If I Knew You Then: Part 1
by Ruchira
Summary: AU, inspired by the line in Day of Honor: "I wish I had known you back then." A chance encounter between two cadets sends both down a different path as they make their way through Starfleet Academy and the beginnings of their Starfleet careers. P/T.
1. Chapter 1

**If I Knew You Then--Part 1**

_Summary: This is completely AU, based off the line in _Day of Honor_ when Paris and Torres are floating in space talking about the Academy, and he says "I wish I knew you back then." So that got me wondering...what if he did know her back then? How would their lives have been different? Just my take on it._

_A/N: I'm a huge P/T fan, bordering on obsessive. Well, considering I write fan-fiction about Voyager, I'd say it goes beyond "bordering". I actually wrote this story a couple of years ago. My roommate really liked it, and has been bugging me about posting it since. It has four parts, which takes us from B'Elanna's first year at Starfleet Academy through _Caretaker_, the first episode of the show. Some parts may seem out of character, which bugs me a little, but I justify it by saying that their characters would be different if they met when they were younger... yeah, it's a cop-out. Sorry. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story, despite any inconsistencies you may find._

_And onto the story._

* * *

"Tommy boy, it's Friday afternoon, and we have _got_ to find us a pair of lovely ladies to accompany us tonight."

"Only you, Ryan, would find it necessary to try to pick up girls _before_ we hit the bars," Cadet First Class Tom Paris replied with a chuckle. The two senior Starfleet Academy cadets were on their way back to the dorms after Nova Squadron practice, still in their flight suits, both eagerly anticipating the first free weekend they had had in months. It was November, only a few weeks until the semester's finals, and their commanding officer had lain off the Saturday morning practices to give them time to study, knowing full well that every one of her cadets would be abusing the privilege to the best of his or her potential.

"Come on, buddy," Ryan Addison replied, almost whining. "We _need_ this weekend."

"And there will be plenty of girls at the bar who we won't have to worry about running into after tonight." He grinned shrewdly. "Or tomorrow morning."

"You do realize, Paris," Addison said, his tone demanding, "that it is November, and we have yet to try to pick up any plebes. Any. Come on, Tommy. We owe ourselves this much. We owe _them_ this much. You're the captain of Nova Squad, and they are impressionable young ladies who have only been away from home for a few months." He leaned closer, his voice lowering. "They're getting lonely and homesick, and the stress of their first finals week is starting to get to them. What they need right now is the comfort of two handsome young men who have been there and know what they're going through." He leaned back slightly, a satisfied smile on his face for the speech he had just given.

Paris couldn't help but to laugh. "Okay, you've made your point, Ryan." He chuckled as he clasped his roommate's shoulder. "Lead the way, oh mighty hunter, to our unsuspecting prey."

It wasn't too hard to find girls on the grounds of Starfleet Academy; after all, there were almost four thousand students, approximately half of them female. Unfortunately, only about five hundred of them were the "unsuspecting prey" of the freshman class that Addison and Paris were seeking, and most of those were probably worried enough about the pending finals week to be in their rooms or the library studying.

"Oh, stop, I found one," Addison said suddenly, holding out his arm to stop Paris. Sure enough, about ten meters in front of them, was the retreating figure of a slight brunette—long, curly, dark hair in a tight plait, a Starfleet Academy track and field warm up suit failing to conceal a great figure, her left arm stiffly in front of her in the familiar posture of someone reading from a PADD while walking. Not definitely a plebe, but the unwillingness to miss a few minutes of studying to walk from track practice to the dorms was highly suggestive.

Even though he hadn't seen her face, Tom decided he approved. He liked brunettes, although he had a tendency to go for ones a bit taller than this one. To be perfectly honest, though, his "type" wasn't all that clearly defined. "One problem, buddy," he said with a frown. "There's one of her, and two of us."

"I saw her first," Ryan protested quickly. "You find your own plebe."

Paris frowned, but decided it was fair. "Fine. I'll be the wingman. What formation are you going for?"

"Standard swoop and grab," Addison replied. "We'll just go up to her and look all impressive in our Nova Squadron flight suits. And you," he said, jabbing a finger in his roommate's chest, "keep your mouth shut."

"Aye, sir," Paris replied with a quirky grin. "We better hurry, she's getting away. Pretty fast, too. If she's any indication, the track team is in good shape this year."

Ryan chuckled, and the two cadets quickly made their way to the retreating plebe. "Hey," Addison said smoothly as he walked up besides her. "Something I can help you with?" he asked, pointing at the PADD.

Paris grimaced slightly at his friend's words. Although neither of them had problems picking up girls, they used completely different approaches, and there was no way Cadet First Class Thomas Eugene Paris would be caught using a line like that.

Apparently it didn't impress the girl much, either. She turned to him quickly, her eyes flashing darkly. As she whipped her head, Tom caught her face in profile and had to fight to suppress a grin. There was no denying her Klingon heritage with those forehead ridges, although they looked faint enough to him to make him suspect a half-Klingon. She wasn't going to make this easy for Ryan, and he liked things easy. "Do I _look_ like I need your help? Does a flyboy like you even _know_ anything about Zimult's theorem on coherent warp core mechanics?" Her voice was rising, her words accelerating as she talked. She was clearly feeling some of the stress that Ryan had mentioned, but she wasn't going to have anything to do with his proposed suggestion. Her eyes went from Addison to Paris and back again. "So what is this?" she demanded. "Talk to the first years with your fancy Nova Squadron flight suits and expect me to swoon and fall into your arms? And what do _you_ find so funny?" she demanded, turning to Paris, who was unsuccessful in containing his laughter.

"Oh, nothing," he replied with an innocent look on his face. "I was just recalling a conversation that Ryan and I just had, and thinking about how much happier he would be right now if he had listened to me."

The look on her face clearly said that she had no idea what he was talking about, and with a flash of anger in her eyes, he wondered briefly if she was going to strike him. Instead, she just muttered something under her breath and stalked away.

One she was out of earshot, Paris started laughing and clasped his friend on the shoulder. "Well, Ry, you tried. Come on, let's go back to our room and get out of these flight suits. I think we both need to get away from campus for tonight. Maybe far away. What time is it in New Orleans? I overheard one of the engineers saying something about the girls down there..."


	2. Chapter 2

San Francisco in the middle of December was never a very pleasant place to be. The weather was chilly, to say the best, the sky a shade of shale despite the fact that it was still fairly early in the afternoon. Outside in that weather was the last place Cadet Tom Paris wanted to be. Well, one of the last; he'd rather be out there than the library, which was his only other choice since Ryan had kicked him out of their room for being "too distracting" while studying for finals. As if it was his fault Ryan Addison couldn't handle writing a paper on first contact protocols while hearing the sounds of his roommate pacing and humming along to his music while studying.

The first finals for the semester would be given the next day, making this the official start of finals week, which meant that all cadets were under lockdown. No one, not even first classmen with spotless records—which Paris was far from having—were allowed liberty, so he was stuck on the grounds for five more days, until all exams had been given.

So after Ryan had not-so-graciously kicked him out of their room, he donned his uniform—another thing he didn't enjoy, but the Academy told him was necessary when he was outside—and headed for his favorite on-campus study spot, the fountain in the middle of campus. Due to the weather, the fountain wasn't running, but the flowing water wasn't the scenery he usually watched.

"Hey, Sarah," he said with a grin as he passed one of his classmates going in the opposite direction.

"Tom," Cadet Sarah Stimler said, returning his grin with a sympathetic smile. "Let me guess: Ryan kicked you out of the room because you couldn't sit still."

He shrugged. "You have it easy. Your sister wouldn't tell you to leave."

"Shannon and I have been living together since the womb. We've gotten used to each other." She brightened. "Hey, what are your plans for break? A group of us were planning on spending a week on Mars. Do you and Ryan want to come?"

He grimaced. "Sorry, I have all sorts of Paris family obligations and whatnot. I don't know about Ryan's plans, though. He'll probably be up for it."

"Great, I'll ask—_after_ he finishes that paper on first contact. He's been complaining about that for half of the semester. How's your studying coming?"

He held up his PADD. "I have an exam in quantum physical mechanics tomorrow morning. I think I have a pretty good handle on it, but there are a few equations I'm still struggling with."

She patted his arm sympathetically. "I'm sure you'll do fine. Drop me a line once restrictions are lifted, we'll all go out to celebrate being another step closer to being done with this place before we go our separate ways for break." She winked at him as she walked by, causing him to chuckle. Sarah Stimler and her identical twin Shannon were a handful, but two of his closest friends at the Academy, mostly because they were two of the only people who didn't really care that his last name was Paris.

He settled himself comfortably on the bench by the fountain and inserted an earpiece so he could listen to his music as he worked through his calculations. Despite his complaints to Sarah, he actually found the work relaxing. As a pilot since childhood, he had long ago learned to make complex calculations on his feet.

He was so into his work that he almost missed the shape of a slight female cadet approaching the center of campus—almost. She stopped in mid-step about five meters away from his bench and glared. He was sitting in the middle of the only bench by the fountain, and she was supposed to be sitting there.

"Where's your little sidekick?" she snarled.

He glanced up and gave her his best roguish grin. "Probably still up in our room, licking his wounds and finishing a paper. Why? You want to give him another chance?"

She snorted. "Right, like that little _pataQ_ could handle it. You're sitting in my seat."

He smirked. "Funny, I didn't see your name on it, _Cadet_," he said, emphasizing her rank as a reminder.

She flushed, clearly not enjoying being put in her place. "What I meant, _sir_, was that I was planning on sitting there."

He slid over and patted the now-empty seat next to him. "Feel free to join me, although you don't look like you like studying outside in this weather much." She was wearing a rarely-seen Starfleet parka over her uniform. Paris remembered vaguely that Qo'noS was much warmer than San Francisco, especially in December; she probably wasn't used to the cold.

"I'm actually waiting for someone," she replied coldly as she sat down. She pulled a PADD out of the pocket of her parka and began working. From the speed of her fingers, she was working through a series of calculations as complicated as his own.

She felt, rather than saw, his eyes on her hands as she worked. "What?" she growled, not even slowing.

"The problem with Zimult's theorem is the space dust," he stated, turning back to his own PADD. He knew that line would be enough to tweak her interest, and sure enough, her fingers stopped, hovering over her PADD as she slowly turned her head to study him.

"What do you mean?" she asked slowly.

"The theorem is sound," he told her, "that is, if you're in a complete vacuum. Not even the best deflector can keep _all_ the space dust away, and those slight impurities mess everything up."

She studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she tried to figure him out. "_How_ did you know about Zimult's theorem?"

"Zimult was a physicist, not an engineer, so he only dealt with ideal environments. Deflectors aren't ideal, so none of those theories could be tested, which is why it's a theorem, not a law." He finished that with a broad grin and went back to his own calculations.

She nodded slowly. "Not bad for a flyboy."

"I'm done giving out pointers to plebes for the semester, and flattery will get you nowhere, so don't even try." He kept his face flat, but she could see the twinkle in his eyes.

"Listen, I, uh," she flushed slightly. "I just wanted to apologize for a few weeks ago. I shouldn't have let my temper get the best of me."

He shrugged and grinned. "No apology necessary. It actually gave me the laugh that I had needed for awhile. It's not every day I get to see my roommate shot down by a half-Klingon plebe."

"What?" she asked, her voice sharp.

He glanced over at her, studying her expression. "What? Am I supposed to ignore the ridges? Do they go away if people pretend they don't exist?"

"Where do you get off saying stuff like that?" she demanded.

He looked her straight in the eye. "I'm not judging you. You're part Klingon, there's nothing wrong with that. It's part of who are you, it's not going to change, regardless of how many people try to ignore it."

She stared at him for a moment. "Do you always say what you're thinking?"

He grinned. "Usually. Doesn't make me all that popular with the admirals."

She snorted. "Yeah, I know the feeling." They continued to work in silence for a few moments before she spoke again. "You never answered my question, about how you knew Zimult's theorem."

"Oh," he replied. "I had to do an analysis of it in my second year. I'm an astrophysics major."

"Astrophysics? I thought all you flyboys were political science majors or something equally useless, to prepare yourselves for future commands."

He snorted. "Right. Like they're going to get me anywhere near a captain's chair."

"I don't know, sir," she replied with a smirk. "From what I hear, that's why they made you the squad leader of Nova Squadron, to groom you for command."

He winced. "Okay, we need to lay down some ground rules. Don't call me 'sir'. Every time I hear someone say that, I get this irrational fear that there's an admiral standing right behind me. Tom Paris," he said, holding out his hand.

"B'Elanna Torres," she replied, taking it. "Ah. Paris. Like the admiral. I get it."

"Yeah, like I needed _that_ reminder," he muttered.

"What, you're allowed to give me a lecture about me being Klingon, and I'm not allowed to make a comment about your name? Whatever happened to, 'it's a part of who you are, it's not going to change'?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but found his lips curling up into a smile. "You're trouble, aren't you?"

"I can think of quite a few professors who wouldn't argue with that," she agreed.

He grinned, then cleared his throat when he realized he had held her gaze just a bit longer than necessary. "Well, if you ever want to discuss esoteric theorems with anyone, you know how to find me."

She smiled slightly, then turned back to her PADD. "I'm not looking for a boyfriend, Paris."

He snorted. "Believe me, I'm not looking for a girlfriend. I just figured you could use a friend in the senior class."

"And why is that?" she asked. "You're going to be out of here in a few months."

"Oh, a Cadet First Class as a friend is what every plebe needs," Paris replied with an innocent look. "We've taken all the required classes that nobody likes to take, we know what professors to avoid, and we're the only ones with the authorization to replicate anything stronger than fruit juice. I don't know if I could have survived my plebe year without a friend in the senior class. And besides," he added with a grin. "The more friends I have around here, the more excuses I have to come back and visit after I graduate, and I figure an ensign would be able to impress more underclassmen girls than a measly Cadet First Class."

Torres found herself chuckling. "And you say_ I'm_ trouble?"

Paris opened his mouth to reply when a third voice called out from the other side of the fountain. "BLT!" he shouted. "Sorry I'm late. You ready to go?"

"Sure, Max," she replied with a smile. Turning back to Paris as she got up, she explained, "My boyfriend. I'll see you around, Paris. Thanks for the help on the theorem."

"Anytime, Torres," he replied with a drawl. He shook his head slightly as he watched her walk away, and grinned despite himself. She would be trouble, he could sense it already.


	3. Chapter 3

"Okay, Ryan, how'd the paper go?" Cadet First Class Shannon Stimler asked, hooking her arm around Addison's. The small group of senior cadets, friends since their first year, were making their way to the shuttle hangars, the last of their fall semester exams behind them.

"Admiral Mitchelson was very pleased with my work," Addison replied proudly. "He said, and I quote," he continued, pulling a PADD out of his pocket, "'This analysis of first contact protocols suggests a maturity not often found in Starfleet cadets.'" He beamed proudly at the words.

"You sure he's not about to report you for plagiarism?" Cadet First Class Siobhan Patel asked dryly.

"Very funny," Addison replied. "Mitchelson loves me. He asked me to be the teaching assistant for his first-year seminar next semester, and rumor is he's preparing to recommend me for a pretty nice posting for next year."

"Well, that's certainly exciting," Shannon replied, squeezing his arm. "I haven't even thought about postings yet."

"You two going to try to stick together?" Cadet First Class Winat Gial asked, gesturing at Shannon and Sarah.

The twins glanced at each other and shrugged. "We haven't decided yet," Shannon replied. "Sarah seems to think we need our space from each other."

"I didn't say that!" Sarah exclaimed defensively. "I just said it's not likely that any ship is going to be looking for two junior exobiologists, so we should prepare ourselves to be split up. And maybe it's time. After all, we've spent twenty-three years together already."

"Sarah, we're only twenty-two," Shannon replied, rolling her eyes.

"I'm counting the nine months we shared a uterus," Sarah shot back.

"Calm down, you two! If I knew it was such a touchy subject, I wouldn't have said anything," Winat replied with a laugh. "I'm just happy that I was accepted to the law school, so I don't have to worry about postings. What about you, Tom? Any prospects?"

"I'm trying not to think about it," Paris replied with a grin. "But if my dad has his way, which he usually does, I'll be sitting at the helm of one of the most advanced ships in the fleet without even trying for it. I figure, if he's so dead-set on planning my entire life, who am I to stand in his way?"

"You make it sound like such a bad thing, that your father is so interested in your career," Patel said with a frown. "My dad doesn't even _ask_ about what happens at school."

"Sometimes, Siobhan, I really envy you," Paris said with a grin. "But enough about school and postings. We only have a few short months together before we're spread around the quadrant, serving as low-level ensigns and pretty much just getting in everyone's way. I don't know about you guys, but I plan on making the most of these months." He clasped Winat's shoulder. "Come on, the Paris family shuttle awaits."

"I still can't believe we're flying there instead of transporting," Addison said with a frown. "How are we getting it back to San Fran? I don't know about you five, but I'm planning on being in no shape to fly in a few hours."

Paris waved dismissively. "Mom's already in France, she's going to take the shuttle from us when we get in, and we'll transport home after we're all nice and tipsy."

"Good thinking, Tom," Sarah said with a note of admiration in her voice. "So shall we?"

He was about to respond when he saw a familiar figure standing in the cue for the transporter. "Give me a minute," he told his friends. "Hey, Torres!" he called out, trotting toward her position.

"Who's that?" Shannon whispered to Ryan. "She looks young enough to be a plebe, but I thought you said you guys haven't had the chance to go trolling for plebes this year?"

He shrugged. "We haven't. Well, there was one half-hearted attempt… I don't believe him!" he finished incredulously. "That was _my_ plebe!"

His four friends laughed. "Sorry, Ryan," Shannon said with an apologetic grin. "It's just funny. Tom swooping in and taking your plebe and all."

"Eh, he can have her," Ryan replied with a dismissive wave. "Or, I guess I could say, he can try. She's got quite the temper. She's Klingon, or at least half-Klingon."

"That sounds like a challenge, and if there's one thing Tom goes for, it's a challenge," Patel said thoughtfully.

"Is that why he never went after you, Siobhan?" Winat asked with a grin. "Too easy?"

"That must be it," Patel replied dryly. "But what does that say about you, if I'm so easy and you _still_ couldn't manage to get any from me?" Their friends whooped in laughter, and even Winat had to admit defeat, but his wide grin was enough to tell them that he wasn't offended.

Meanwhile, over in the transporter cue, Paris had caught up to Torres. "Well? How'd your first finals week turn out?"

"Not bad," Torres said. "Professor Alkani was impressed with my analysis of Zimult's theorem. He even said that with some work, it could be accepted for publication."

"Hey, that's great!" he exclaimed. He eyed her suspiciously. "So why was the week just 'not bad'?"

"I almost failed interstellar history," she admitted. "Why are we required to take those classes, anyway?"

He laughed. "You see? That is why you need a first classman as a friend. I can help you with things like that. In fact, I'm a history minor, although my area of expertise is a bit outside interstellar history."

She made a face. "History? And just when I was starting to be impressed with the fact that you're an astrophysics major."

He flashed her a grin as she smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. Her usual plait was gone; she was wearing her long dark hair down and straightened, which wasn't agreeing with the wind. It did go nicely with the dark green sweater and white coat she was wearing, though. "History is what I do for fun. It keeps me sane; I can't be all Starfleet, all the time. Don't you have something like that?"

"Yeah," she replied flatly. "Fixing things."

"Engineers," he responded with an eye roll. "Just don't know how to have fun. You heading home for break?"

She snorted. "Home. Right. No, I'm spending the break with my boyfriend's family."

He raised his eyebrows. "Two weeks with the boyfriend's family? Doesn't sound like much of a break to me."

She shrugged and looked away. "I might not stay the whole time, depending on how things go. What about you?"

"All sorts of Starfleet functions and family obligations. Not much more of a break than yours."

"I'm sure you'll manage," she replied. She jumped slightly when someone put an arm across her shoulders. "Hey," she said with a smile at the cadet standing there. She cleared her throat slightly at the awkward silence. "Um, Tom, this is my boyfriend Max Burke. Max, Tom Paris."

"Nice to meet you," Tom said, offering his hand.

"Likewise," Burke replied. "Hey, are you the Tom Paris who went to Starfleet Preparatory Academy?"

"One in the same," Tom replied lightly. "Did you go there?"

"Yeah, I was a freshman when you were a senior. I remember watching your flight team perform. It was pretty impressive."

"Oh, yeah?" Tom asked. "You interested in flying?"

Burke laughed. "No, I'm thinking of majoring in tactics, but I still know a good show when I see one."

"Thanks," Paris replied. He glanced over to see his friends giving him very impatient looks. "If you two will excuse me, my friends and I are taking off to celebrate the end of finals. Have a good break."


	4. Chapter 4

Cadet Tom Paris tossed his PADD on his desk and collapsed onto his bed. Classes hadn't been bad—it was the first day of the semester, after all—but it was hard to get back into the swing of things after two weeks of doing nothing more intellectual than figure out how to pick up girls. With a sigh of resignation, he picked up the PADD again and began thumbing through the assignments. He had reading to do for Uses and Abuses of the Prime Directive and Military History, some problems to work through for Flight at Impulse Speeds, and an outline to submit for his Holoprogramming course. He grinned. He was taking the course as an elective, and was one of the first classes he was actually looking forward to.

"Hey, Ry," he called out to his roommate while still studying the PADD. "Have you seen my comic books?"

"They're under your bed," Cadet Ryan Addison replied. He, like his roommate, was on his back on his bed, contemplating his list of assignments. "Don't you have homework to do?"

"I've always wanted to make a holonovel from my Captain Proton comic books, and I figured I could do it for my Holoprogramming project."

"That's going to be the only thing you pay attention to all semester, isn't it?" Ryan asked wryly.

"Of course not," Paris replied with a grin. "I'll be working on my Nova Squad flight plans, too."

"Right. Speaking of which, what time is practice out today?"

"When we're done."

"That's not very helpful."

Tom chuckled. "We should be finished at 1800."

"Aww. Our squad leader's taking it easy on us our first day back. Only three hours of practice," Addison teased. "You know, Tom, not everybody loves being in those shuttles as much as you."

Paris was about to respond when his consol beeped. "Great. Probably good old Dad, making sure that my first day of classes for the semester went well." He leaned over and hit the accept button on the consol, then straightened in surprise.

"Torres. How was break?"

"Not as horrible as I feared," Cadet B'Elanna Torres replied. She was back in uniform, her hair again braided and hanging down her back like a rope. "Anyway, I was thinking about what you said, about how the point of having a first classman friend is to get help for required classes."

"So what class is it?"

"Survival Strategies," she said with a grimace.

"Ah," he replied, making a face of his own. "I see what you mean. Do you want to meet to talk about it?"

She thought about it for a moment. "Well, I have track practice at 1600, so it would have to be before that."

He shook his head. "No, I have Nova Squadron practice from 1500 to 1800. How about dinner?"

"Dinner?"

"You know, eating food, end of the day," he teased. He saw the look on her face and was quick to add, "It's not a date. We both have to eat, so we might as well talk shop while doing so."

"Talk shop?"

"Just an expression. What do you say, 1900 at the Union Building?"

She seemed reluctant, but agreed. "Sure. I'll see you there." He leaned over and ended the transmission, then got up and retrieved his comic books. Might as well get started on some work before practice.

"So, date with the plebe you stole?" Ryan accused from the other bed.

"You heard me, Ryan. It's not a date." He made a face. "Besides, since when do I _date_?"

"Susie Crabtree," his roommate replied without missing a beat. Paris only rolled his eyes at the thought of his first-semester girlfriend, but didn't dignify the statement with a response. "So you're doing this out of the kindness of your heart?"

"Believe it or not, Ry, I'm not a horrible person," Paris replied dryly. "Besides, she has a boyfriend."

Ryan eyed him suspiciously. "You really _are_ doing this out of the kindness of your heart, aren't you?"

Tom shrugged. "She seemed like she needed a friend. Come on, it's time for us to head down to the hangar to get ready for practice."

---

Tom Paris was already sitting at a table in the Union when B'Elanna Torres arrived a few minutes before 1900. He was studying a PADD, making a few entries, glancing at what appeared to be paper sitting on the table in front of him, and making a few more entries in the PADD. Seeing him sitting there, B'Elanna decided that this was a bad idea, and was about to turn to leave when he looked up at saw her.

"Hey," he called out softly. He sat both the PADD and paper under his chair and waved her over.

"What were you working on?" she asked as she sat down, jutting her chin toward the PADD under his chair.

"I'm working on a holonovel for my holoprogramming course," he replied with a grin. "I'm basing it off a comic book, Captain Proton."

"A what?" she asked, confusion on her face.

He laughed and reached under the chair for the papers he was looking at before. "A comic book. It was a popular form of entertainment back in the 20th century," he explained as he slid the thin book across the table to her.

She opened it, somewhat trepidiciously, and saw black and white drawings with words in bubbles pointed toward the character's mouths. She read a few panels and frowned. "What is this? It seems… crude." She looked up at him, again confused. "I don't understand. What's this even about?"

He laughed slightly, his blue eyes bright. "It's what they thought the future would be like, back in the middle of the 20th century."

"But it's nothing like this," she protested. "We don't fly through space with rocket packs on our backs, androids look nothing like this robot—"

"It's just for entertainment, Torres," he protested lightly. "Don't you find it even a little funny how they used to think we'd be living?"

She snorted quietly, clearly not as amused with it as he was. "So are we going to get something to eat?"

He brightened again. "Jacko makes the best pizza this side of Chicago. You wanna split one?"

"Pizza?" she asked. What was it about him that had her so baffled all the time?

This time, he looked more astonished than amused. "You don't know what pizza is?" he asked. "You aren't from around here, are you?"

"I grew up on Kessik IV," she replied crossly. She didn't the need yet another reminder of how different she was than her classmates.

He didn't press the issue any further, but explained, "Pizza is a quasi-Italian dish. It's like a pie, with tomato sauce and cheese and other toppings over a bread crust. It used to be the most popular meal among college students."

"This another one of your history things?" she asked, her eyebrows raised. He only grinned in reply.

"You stay here, I'll go put in an order with Jacko. Are there any toppings you don't like?"

She had no idea what was supposed to go on a pizza, so she just shrugged. "Just…don't get anything still moving." He chuckled as he headed for the counter, and a minute later, he slid back into his seat, without the pizza. She frowned. "Where's the food?"

He laughed. "He has to bake it. That's why Jacko's pizzas are so good—he actually cooks them, not just replicates them. So. Survival Strategies."

"Right," she said, pulling out her PADD and making a face. "I don't even see the point in this class."

"There isn't much of a point to many of the required classes," he replied with a quirky smile. "So who do you have?"

"Zakarian," she replied. "Have you had him?"

"Yeah, Old Sneezy," he said with a laugh. At her questioning look, he explained. "The man is a medical mystery. He's allergic to just about everything. Rumor is, he's allergic to allergy medications. All of Starfleet Medical is at a loss for what to do." He grinned and took a drink of water. "I had him for my basic tactics course second year. He's a pretty fair professor, doesn't have favorites and doesn't hold grudges. My friend Siobhan had him for Survival Strategies. I remember her saying that as long as you don't kill yourself or any of your classmates, you're pretty much guaranteed a good grade. Just be thankful you didn't get _my_ professor for that course."

"Who'd you have?"

He gave her a quirky grin that failed to reach his eyes. "Paris."

"Ah."

They fell into silence for a moment, interrupted by Jacko placing a pizza between them. "This looks great," Tom enthused, taking a slice right off the pan. "Ouch. Still hot."

"How do you eat this?" B'Elanna asked, still staring at the pie.

"With your hands, like this," he said, demonstrating as he took a large bite. "I think that's why it was so popular with college students back in the day. Doesn't require plates or silverware so there's just about no cleanup."

She took a piece and took a bite like he demonstrated. "Not bad," she admitted. "What's this on top?"

"Pepperoni and mushrooms," he replied. "It's a classic. Anyway, one of the most important things to remember with Survival Strategies is to try not to be noticed. The more you stand out, the more the prof will find to critique. Especially with Sneezy. If he doesn't remember who you are, he'll assume you did everything right and give you an A."

"So what did you get?"

He grimaced slightly. "B minus," he replied. At her laughter, he continued defensively, "It's not easy to remain unnoticed when your father is the professor. Besides, good old Dad never really needed an excuse to find something to critique about me."

"Well, no one can complain that he played favorites," she teased. He just rolled his eyes and took another bite in reply.

They continued to talk about courses and professors as they ate, and before she knew it, B'Elanna noticed the pizza was gone—except for the crusts that Tom didn't eat. Surprised at how much time must have gone by, she glanced at the chronometer on her PADD and grimaced. "I have to go. I promised Max I'd help him with his engineering assignment."

Tom raised his eyebrows. "Tutoring your boyfriend? Hope you're getting something out of the deal."

"He promised to take me out to dinner once a week." She grimaced again. "His idea, not mine. Personally, I don't like taking so much time out of my day to go out to a nice dinner, but he enjoys it."

"You need to learn how to relax more," Paris drawled with a grin. "I have some great holoprograms you could try."

She gave him a look as she shrugged on her parka. "If they're anything like your Captain Electron comic books, I'll just stick to engines."

"It's Captain Proton!" Tom protested. "And that's not my only program. But anyway, next time you need to talk about classes or anything else, don't hesitate to call."

"Thanks," she replied, stuffing her PADD in her pocket. After getting so few pieces of advice and having to deal with Paris' history fetish, she had no intention of reaching out for his help again. "I'll remember that. See you around."


	5. Chapter 5

Despite not making plans to do so, Cadet B'Elanna Torres met up with Tom Paris again a few weeks after they shared a pizza over Survival Strategies tips and Captain Proton comic books. The meeting was completely unintentional; she was coming off of guard duty at midnight and still had a few hours of work to do before classes started the next morning, so she headed over to the coffee shop in the Union for some much-needed caffeine and a place to study away from her roommate, who insisted that she needed a solid eight hours of sleep every night and couldn't fall asleep when B'Elanna was up studying. She was surprised to see Cadet Paris sitting at one of the corner tables with a slight dark-haired girl and a stack of PADDs. He was still in his flight suit, which B'Elanna assumed meant that he had been there since practice was over, probably six hours before. She briefly wondered if the cadet across from him was his girlfriend, but dismissed the thought when she noticed their body language. Both were clearly exhausted and frustrated, but didn't seem to be frustrated toward each other. She suspected that it was the pile of PADDs that was the source of the problem.

Torres poured herself a mug of coffee and headed toward a table against the back wall when Paris spotted her. "Hey, Torres," he called out. "Can you do me a favor and get me some coffee?"

"Get it yourself," she shot back.

He pouted for a second, then replied with, "If you bring that pot over, we might have an interesting engineering problem for you to look at." The girl across from him shot him an annoyed look, but didn't say anything as she reached for another PADD.

Torres considered this for a moment, then decided it was worth it. She didn't know what kind of engineering problem a senior astrophysics major would have, but chances were it would be more interesting than what she had to work on.

"Have a seat," Paris said as she placed the pot on his table. "We've been working on a problem with the maneuverability thrusters of the Nova Squad shuttles for the past six hours, and I think we can use a fresh set of eyes."

"Or maybe just a dose of reality," the other cadet responded sweetly, her voice laced with an English accent. She turned to Torres. "Tommy boy here, despite the fact that he's majoring in astrophysics and is actually quite good at it, seems to think that none of the laws of the universe apply to him when he's at the controls of his shuttle."

"And Siobhan just doesn't want to admit that there's something about a ship's engines that she doesn't know," Paris retorted. He sighed at rubbed his eyes. "Sorry. We're just a little frustrated. There's a maneuver that I want us to try, the Yeager loop, but the controls are just a little bit too sluggish to pull it off and make it look nice. If we want to even have a shot at the Rigel Cup, we're going to have to make some improvements." He suddenly looked sheepish. "Sorry, I haven't made introductions. Siobhan, this is Cadet Fourth Class B'Elanna Torres. B'Elanna, Cadet First Class Siobhan Patel. She's the squad's chief engineer."

"I didn't know Nova Squadron had student engineers," B'Elanna admitted.

Patel nodded. "It's part of the regulations for the collegiate flight competitions. All the pilots _and_ all the engineers must be students." She made a face. "Probably just to keep the Academy from having too much of an advantage, since Starfleet has the best engineers in the Federation." She eyed Torres for a moment. "So you're the plebe that Tom stole from Ryan."

B'Elanna flushed with anger. "Nobody stole me from anyone. _Especially_ not that _pataQ_."

To her surprise, Patel laughed. "I'll agree with that. No offense, Tom, but your roommate does leave something to be desired."

"You're just upset because he still blames you for his console blowing out two years ago."

"I didn't even _touch_ his craft!" Patel exclaimed, then sighed in frustration. "But that's irrelevant." She shook her head slightly. "I still think the Kolvoord Starburst would be more impressive for Rigel."

"You're mad," Paris replied passionately. "For many reason. First of all, it's banned by the Academy. Second, more than a hundred years ago, the last time it was done, all five pilots _died_ while attempting it. Third, if our thrusters aren't good enough for the Yeager loop, I don't want us to be passing within meters of each other. Finally, we don't have five pilots with the skills for it." He sighed. "Although I wouldn't be surprised if Nick tries it next year. The guy's an idiot."

"Nick Locarno," Patel explained to Torres. "Cadet Second Class, Tom's heir-apparent for the Nova Squadron throne for next year. Good pilot, but denser than the Amargosa Diaspora. Although come to think of it," she said, squinting at Paris, "the two do bear an uncanny resemblance for each other."

"Funny," Paris shot back, then sighed again. He slid a PADD over to Torres. "Here. Take a look at this and see if something jumps out at you. I think we've just been looking at it for so long than we're missing the big picture."

She studied the schematics for a few moments, and Paris studied her. Her eyes would narrow at certain moments, then relax, her fingers flying over the PADD as she moved back and forth through the information. She was a very expressive thinker, but he got the impression that there wasn't much she did that wasn't expressive. "What are you doing here so late, anyway?"

She glanced up at him quickly, then back down at the PADD. "I had guard duty, I was just getting off shift and needed some coffee to wake myself up so I could get some work done."

"What'd you do to get guard duty?" Patel asked, her eyes also fixed on a PADD.

"I started a fight in Astrotheory 101," Torres replied, distracted by the data in front of her. "What if you added an EM pulse to the polaron network…" she trailed off when she noticed the incredulous looks of the senior cadets. "What?"

"Astrotheory 101?" Paris asked. "How did you start a fight in Astrotheory 101?"

She flushed. "It's not important. Let's just say, it's not the first time that sort of thing has happened. Anyway, the EM pulse-"

"Won't work," Patel interrupted with a shake of her head. "I already thought about it. The polaron network isn't stable enough for that."

"It _will_ work," Torres shot back. "You can increase the stability of the polarons by decreasing the rate of flux in the magnetic constrictors."

"Which would compromise adhesion," Patel argued. "These are sublight crafts designed for maneuverability. The last thing we want, especially with someone like Tom at the controls, is to do anything that could affect the stability of the craft."

Torres shook her head. "It _won't_ decrease adhesion or stability. In fact, it would probably improve it. You're running the constrictors too high."

"They have to run that high. These are older shuttles, the systems aren't as up-to-standard as you've been working with in your intro engineering courses."

Paris leaned back in his chair and watched the two banter about the engines. He had lost the ability to follow the argument a while ago, so he figured he might as well enjoy the show. Torres shook her head. "I was using systems older than these when I set this up for the Jameson award last year."

Patel snorted. "So you entered the Jameson, big deal. There's a difference between entering a high school engineering competition and having a feasible idea."

"Well, at least five Federation engineers, including two in Starfleet, thought it was feasible, because this project won the award."

Patel's eyes narrowed to slits as she studied the young cadet in front of her. She knew what a big deal winning the Jameson award was, because she had won it her senior year. Being completely honest with herself, it _was_ a significant accomplishment to even be invited to compete for the award, which was the highest honor in secondary school engineering. Every recipient of the award who entered Starfleet—which was most—ended up winning the J. Bruce award within three years of graduation from the Academy.

She suddenly snapped her fingers and pointed at Torres. "You're the girl from Kessik IV, aren't you?"

"Yes," Torres replied, still in combative mode. To her surprise, Patel grinned.

"Your project on improving the efficacy of Bussard collectors made me nervous. I thought you were going to beat me," she admitted.

Torres smiled slightly. "That was my freshman year, the one year I _didn't_ win." She took a deep breath and tapped the PADD. "I know what I'm talking about here."

Patel nodded. "Okay, walk me through it, and I'll decide if it's feasible. If it looks good, we'll make the changes to Tom's ship and see how it works out."

"What?" Paris asked, drawn back into the conversation by his name being spoken. "Why my ship?"

"Because you abuse your ship more than any of the other pilots. If your ship survives, than there won't be any problems with the others," Patel replied. She turned to Torres. "He should consider a posting with R&D at the Test Flight center. Any ship that can survive his tactics could survive any other pilot in Starfleet."

"Thanks. I think," Paris grumbled. "Okay, Torres, walk us through what you have in mind, and be sure to speak slowly and use small words so I can follow along." He said that with a smirk to Patel, who smirked back. B'Elanna poured herself another cup of coffee. It was going to be a long night.


	6. Chapter 6

"Another notable exception to the non-interference policy is that of restoration of society to their previous path of development before third-party interference." Cadet Tom Paris was pacing his room, dictating a report for Uses and Abuses of the Prime Directive that was due the next day. He had put it off until the last minute, just like always, and was regretting that decision, just like always.

"Don't forget to throw in a Kirk reference. McAllister loves Kirk references," Cadet Ryan Addison said from his reclining position on his bed.

"Pause dictation," Paris commanded. He glared at his roommate. "You're not helping."

Addison shrugged in reply. "Just thought I'd give you some pointers. I throw in a Kirk reference in all of my reports to McAllister, and I always get an A." He glanced at the chronometer on his PADD before tossing it on his desk. "But that's the last of your pointers. I'm off for my date. Sure you don't want to come? Jennifer said she has a friend who's more than willing to meet you."

Paris sighed. "I wish I could, I really do, but even if I didn't have this report to dictate, I don't have liberty."

"Oh, that's right. The gambling ring," Ryan said with a slight smirk. "I must admit, Sarah and I had a bet going on regarding when your gambling would be discovered."

"You're funny, Addison."

"I try. Have fun on campus tonight." With another smirk, he was out of the room.

Paris sighed and picked up his PADD again. "Resume dictation. An example of this could be found when Captain James T. Kirk of the _USS Enterprise_—pause dictation." He was staring out of his window at the courtyard and sighed. He hadn't seen B'Elanna Torres in almost a month, since she helped the Nova Squadron engineers with the enhancements to the thrusters, but there was no mistaking her form shivering as she paced circles around on the bench below. He took one last look at his PADD, sighed again, and grabbed his rarely-used parka from his closet. Glancing out the window again, he replicated two raktajinos, and poured a healthy amount of Saurian brandy in one.

"You don't look like the type to study outdoors," he commented a few minutes later. Lost in her thoughts, B'Elanna hadn't even heard him approach, and nearly jumped in surprise.

"Paris," she said a moment later, after she recovered. "What are you doing here?"

He offered her the parka without answering. She studied him for a moment, then nodded and shrugged it on. It was ridiculously large on her, and Paris had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. "Raktajino?"

"Do I look like I need any caffeine?" B'Elanna retorted.

He held the mug out anyway. "It's spiked."

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully before she reached for it. She took a sip, and nearly spit it out in surprise.

"Spiked with what? Excessive amounts of sugar and whipped cream?" He took a sniff of the remaining mug and gave her an embarrassed smile.

"Sorry about that. Here." They traded mugs, and she took another tentative sip, this time smiling afterwards.

"That is nice. Thanks."

"Just another advantage to having a first classman friend." He took a seat on the bench, and she resumed her pacing. "So, do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really." He continued to sit and sip his coffee while he watched her pace around the bench. She gave a frustrated sigh. "Max and I had a fight. I'm pretty sure it's over."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I told him it was over. Right before I broke his wrist."

"Ouch."

She gave another frustrated sigh and collapsed on the bench next to him. "It was just one thing after another with Max. He just wanted me to be someone I'm not, and I finally had enough. He expected me to be happy just to be in his presence, to want to go out to the bars because _he_ wanted to go out to the bars, to put down my work because _he_ wanted to take a break. He thought that I would enjoy helping him with his engineering assignments just because it was time we spent _together_." She gave a disgusted laugh. "Even though he was never really all that interested in the assignments. And then when I started getting busy with track practice and helping out the Nova Squadron engineers, he started talking about how hard everything was, how he was thinking of dropping out of the Academy, but maybe, just maybe, if I help him with this one assignment, he'll be able to figure it out and maybe he'll stay. I finally had enough of it, and tonight I told him that if it was so hard for him, maybe he _should_ just leave, maybe I didn't need that kind of distraction. We all know how many difficulties I've been having here _without_ his help."

"Earning demerits is part of the fun of the Academy," Tom said, but the joke went flat.

"Earning demerits is one thing, but I've _already_ had three disciplinary hearings, and if Max reports this, I'll have a suspension for sure. I'm just so _tired_ of playing these games!"

"What games?"

"What games?" she repeated, her tone incredulous. "The games with Max, with the Academy. With Max, I don't know if I'm supposed to be his girlfriend or the engineering tutor he occasionally sleeps with. With Starfleet, well, I just don't know what I'm supposed to do. One minute, I'm a great engineer with endless potential; the next, I'm not good officer material and I need to learn how to control my temper."

"Do you think he'll leave?"

"Max? I don't know. Maybe. Maybe it was just his way of getting me to do his homework. Part of me hopes he really does leave. I mean, if he's the sort to tell his girlfriend he'll drop out of school if she doesn't help him with his homework, what is he going to do as an officer in a desperate situation? I don't think he'd have any problem throwing ethics or common sense out the window in order to get what he wants." She stood again and resumed pacing, but didn't say anything further.

"What about you?" Paris asked quietly as he took another sip of his raktajino.

"Hmm?"

"Are you leaving?"

She stared at him for a minute. She was about give a biting reply, but instead sighed and collapsed back onto the bench. He marveled once again at her endless energy, the way she kept bouncing up from that bench, returning to it, bouncing up again... "I don't know," she admitted after thinking for a moment. "I mean, so much of Starfleet is everything I wanted. My engineering courses are challenging, I'm actually on a winning track team, and working with the Nova Squadron engineering team, constantly trying to find ways to make the shuttles work better, it's a dream come true. But Starfleet and I don't exactly get along. I can't follow orders, I forget I'm not supposed to talk back to superior officers, I lose my temper far too easily and far too often. There's a Klingon phrase, _mok'tah_. Bad match. That's what Starfleet and I are, a bad match."

Tom leaned forward on the bench and turned his head toward B'Elanna. "You sure about that?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning at him.

"First of all, don't make any decisions either way today. You've already made one emotional decision today. The worst decisions I've ever made are the ones I made after another big decision. Second, I don't think you're such a bad match for Starfleet. Despite the fights and the demerits, you actually want to be here. That's more than I can say for myself."

"What are you talking about?" she asked with a short laugh. "You were _born_ for Starfleet."

"No, I was born _into_ Starfleet," he corrected. "My _dad_ was born for Starfleet. Or maybe it was my grandfather, or great-grandfather. I don't know. Anyway, Starfleet was the _last_ thing I wanted, maybe because it was what my father wanted for me. Join Starfleet, rise through the ranks, continue the Paris family tradition in the Admiralty. But I did it anyway, because it's easier to do what Dad wants than stand up to him. My plebe year, I did everything I could to try to get kicked out, because I figured if they asked me to leave, it wasn't the same as dropping out. Eventually, I figured out that everything I was doing was still all about Dad, and I decided I didn't want things to be about him. I was going to do this for me, or not at all. So I started to find things I actually enjoyed about Starfleet, like Nova Squadron and spending time with my friends."

"And you became an upstanding young cadet," Torres finished dryly.

Paris laughed. "Hell, no. I just decided to make the best of my situation." He squeezed her shoulder. "I bet if you looked hard enough, you'd find more things you like about this place than you realized."

"Well, I don't know if I'd go _that_ far," she said with a slight smile. "But I won't leave tonight."

"Good," he said with a grin. "I would hate to lose such a good engineer."

She tried to glare at him, but couldn't help but laugh at the goofy expression on his face. "You're such a pig, Paris."

"Glad to see you're feeling better. Come on, I'll walk you back to your building."

"I can take care of myself."

He grinned. "I know. I just want to make sure I get my parka back."


	7. Chapter 7

Cadet Siobhan Patel was making her usual rounds through the Nova Squadron hangar when she stopped at one the crafts, examining the work closely. She gave a crisp nod. "Good work, Torres. Now pack up, we're done for the day."

Cadet B'Elanna Torres frowned at Patel. "Track practice was cancelled today, so I don't have anything else to do. I can still get some work done on the sensor array."

Patel shook her head firmly, her collar-length dark hair flying. "No, we're done for the day. We work as a team here, and I'm the team leader, and I say we're done. It's St. Patrick's Day, and we have a party to get to."

Torres shook her head. "I don't have liberty. I might as well stay and work on this."

"You don't need liberty. It's an official Nova Squadron event, and you're an official member of the Nova Squadron engineering team." Patel grinned as she handed Torres the Nova Squadron patch. "Congratulations, Cadet, and welcome to the team. Now get out of here and get dressed. Be at the transporter station in an hour, and don't forget to wear green." She grinned, a rare sight this close to the Rigel Cup, as she watched her newest team member practically run out of the hangar. Torres brought out the big sister in her, and while she knew the younger woman could figure things out on her own, she couldn't help feeling like she needed to protect her.

---

"Hey, Torres." B'Elanna turned slightly when she heard the voice behind her and the quickening of footsteps as he tried to catch up. "Congratulations."

"Thanks, Addison," Torres replied with a slight smile once the pilot caught up to her. Although she wouldn't say that she was good friends with Cadet Ryan Addison, they had both put the event of a few months ago behind them and formed a good working relationship. "How'd you hear so quickly?"

He grinned. "Apparently Siobhan has been talking about officially making you part of the team for a few weeks now, and she told Tom about half an hour ago that she finally did it."

"Ah," B'Elanna replied. She frowned slightly. "Where is Paris, anyway?"

"He beamed over with Siobhan about fifteen minutes ago to help her get things set up."

"Beamed over? Where are we going?"

His grin broadened. "London. Siobhan's dad owns an Indian restaurant there, and we've been having St. Patrick's Day dinners there since we started on the squad as third classmen."

Torres frowned again. "I'm not all that knowledgeable on my Terran holidays, but isn't it a bit unusual to celebrate an Irish holiday in an Indian restaurant in London?"

Addison chuckled as they entered the transporter station. "Mrs. Patel is Irish, so that supposedly makes it all okay." He shrugged. "I suppose I must have some Irish in me—the red hair has to come from somewhere—but honestly, this holiday for me is just a chance to get off-campus and try to get drunk off synthehol with the Academy's blessing. Actually, since it's Friday, we might break out the real stuff tonight."

"I can't believe you're treating my people's holiday in such a disrespectful manner," Cadet Nick Locarno said from his position near the transporter platform.

Ryan frowned; he had even less respect for the younger cadet than his roommate, which was saying quite a lot. "Isn't Locarno an Italian name?" he asked.

"I have an Irish grandmother," Locarno replied with a smirk, giving Torres a wink. She narrowed her eyes slightly but didn't say anything. She knew that Tom, Ryan, and Siobhan didn't care much for the second classman, but he didn't seem all that bad to her. She was reserving judgment for the time being.

Addison, Torres, and Locarno, along with the other two cadets waiting in the room, stepped on to the transporter platform. A minute later, Torres felt the familiar twinge of the transporter; when it was over, she found herself in a civilian transporter station, presumably on the other side of the planet. "We're about a block away," Addison informed them as he stepped off the pad. The other four followed him out of the small station and up a set of stairs to a brightly-lit open area. "For those of you who haven't been here before, this is Piccadilly Circus, once a major intersection and shopping area of London. The Brits, being who they are, tried to rebuild it after the Third World War to be exactly the way it was before. Not everything is as it was, but it's still known as a historical and arts district of London. And the Patel's restaurant," he said, stepping onto a less-well-lit side street, "is right here."

It was the only business on the street that appeared open at the late hour—with the time zone differences, it must have been around 0200, and the other restaurant owners and shopkeepers had turned out their lights hours ago. Ryan pulled the door open, and they were instantly hit with the sounds of the beginning of a dinner party.

"_Cead Mile Failte_!" Tom Paris called out from his position at the door, adopting a thick Irish accent. "One hundred thousand welcomes to the third annual Nova Squadron St. Patrick's Day dinner!"

"You're talking funny," Torres replied with a confused expression.

"It's St. Patrick's Day, and I'm proud to be an Irishman," Paris replied with a grin.

"Well, no one can say he's not enthusiastic," Addison joked to Cadet Sito Jaxa, who looked just as confused as Torres. Like B'Elanna, it was her first Nova Squadron St. Patrick's Day.

"May I take your coats, lassies?" Paris continued, still with the accent.

"Only if you drop that silly accent," Torres grumbled in reply. He grinned, but didn't say anything as he helped her out of her coat.

"Come on, let's go get some drinks," he said, now in his normal voice, after he returned from hanging up the coats. He guided her toward the bar, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. He grabbed two of the green beers sitting out and handed one to her. "To Nova Squadron's newest engineer," he said with a grin, touching his glass to hers. She smiled back and took a sip, then raised her eyebrows. It wasn't synthehol.

"Trying to get me drunk, Paris?" she joked.

"Would it help my odds any?" he joked back.

She snorted. "Yeah, right."

---

Siobhan Patel looked around the restaurant with a slight smile on her face. It was another successful St. Patrick's Day dinner—the food, consisting of both Irish and Indian dishes, went over well; the conversations remained light; everyone seemed to be having a good time. She noticed Ryan talking to Sito Jaxa, and didn't bother to hide her smile. Addison hadn't even tried to hide his admiration for the blond Bajoran pilot, who was smart enough to keep him at an arm's distance.

Her eyes fell on Tom Paris, standing next to his roommate, and her smile fell slightly. He had a somewhat serious expression on his face, and wasn't paying attention to Ryan and Jaxa's conversation at all. Instead, his eyes were focused on something on the other side of the room. She turned to follow his line of sight and sighed.

There was no denying he was staring right at B'Elanna Torres. It wasn't that she could blame him; the young half-Klingon was exotic to begin with, but she looked especially good that night. She was wearing a dark green tunic over tight matching pants, an outfit that accentuated her slight figure. Her dark curls, controlled by some sort of gel, were down and loose with the exception of a single braid along one side of her face. Overall, the hair and the clothes and the relaxed expression on her face made her look more carefree than Patel had ever seen her.

"You know," she said softly as she positioned herself at Paris' side. "You could talk to her."

He glanced down at her, a surprised expression on his face. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied with a slight frown.

She frowned back. "Sure you don't, Paris. I saw you staring at Torres."

He gave her a look of cool disinterest, one he always adopted when he wanted to avoid a given topic. "I don't know what you're talking about," he stubbornly repeated.

"Tom," Patel said gently. "There's nothing wrong with being attracted to her; she's very attractive, and I'd be surprised if she thinks you're all that terrible. Just tell her you think so, maybe you'll get lucky and find out she feels the same way."

His frown deepened as he shook his head, still not meeting his friend's eye. "She's finally getting centered on Academy life, with making the squad's engineering team and running track. She needs a friend right now, not a distraction." He turned to Siobhan and said softly, "I know what it's like to feel overwhelmed by this place, and I'm not going to do anything to contribute to that feeling. Besides," he said, suddenly chipper, "you learned about Klingon sex in Interspecies Protocol, and I've grown rather fond of my limbs. I'd rather not lose them."

She frowned at his sudden change of tone. He always turned things into a joke when they got too serious for him, which annoyed her to no end. She suspected that Tom had real feelings for the young engineer, but telling him that would do him no good until he was willing to admit it to himself. She sighed, her eyes once more traveling the room. Her gaze fell on Nick Locarno, who was weaving through the people toward the small group of engineers that included Torres. "Hmm," she said softly, careful to keep her voice light. "It looks like our good buddy Nick is seeking some engineering advice."

Patel watched her friend's jaw tighten. She wasn't sure if it was out of his feelings of animosity toward the other pilot or jealously about the young engineer—or more likely, a combination of the two—but whatever it was, it made him straightened and lean forward, about to move to intercept.

Siobhan held out her arm to stop him. "I know you want to be a great friend and protect B'Elanna from everything, but she's going to have to learn some things on her own, like how much of a creep Locarno is." She fixed her dark eyes on his. "You know how little respect I have for Nick and how much I would love to be the one to deck him, but you're going to have to let this go." She smiled slightly. "Besides, we only have about another half hour until we need to head back to the Academy."

He nodded slowly, knowing she was right. His lips slowly curled into a smile. "My offer to beat him up for you still stands," he told her.

She waved the thought aside. "He's not even worth the effort. Come on, let's mingle. We're supposed to be spreading the luck of the Irish, remember?"

Tom glanced over at B'Elanna again, then turned back toward Siobhan and grinned, his usual carefree mask back in place. "You're right. Let's hit the bar, I think your mom still has more of that green beer somewhere."


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Sorry about the not posting for a few days thing. I blame FFN (because, well, it's their fault). So I'm giving you a chapter now and (hopefully) another tomorrow morning to reward you for your patience._

* * *

"Do you want to get some dinner?" B'Elanna Torres almost dropped her hypospanner in surprise at the voice coming from behind her.

"_Kahless, _Paris! Don't you know better than to sneak up on a half-Klingon?" she scolded before sighing. "I can't, I promised Siobhan I'd finish this tonight."

He watched her for a second. "How much longer do you think it'll take?"

She stepped back slightly, eying the work in front of her. "I don't know, maybe half an hour."

He grabbed an extra hypospanner from her toolbox. "It'll take half as long with two people," he said, positioning himself at the open panel. At her questioning gaze, he gave her a quirky grin. "A good pilot knows to do at least basic maintenance on the ships he flies," he explained. "And I'm a better-than-good pilot."

She just rolled her eyes as she got back to her work. "Isn't it a bit late for dinner?" It was 2100, almost three hours since the pilots returned to the hangar from practice.

"I was working on some things in the flight office," he said, his voice muffled from his head being inside the panel. "I noticed you were still down here, and thought you'd like a break for something to eat."

"And what made you think I didn't eat dinner after track practice?" she asked, only half-serious.

He gave her a solemn look, which she missed, concentrating as she was on her task at hand. "Actually, I had a problem I wanted to go over with you."

She frowned. "Are the sensor modifications not functioning properly?"

He chuckled slightly. "The modifications are fine. It's not a problem with the ships that I wanted to discuss."

"Then what is it?"

He didn't answer for a second, his mind focused on aligning the relay. "I just figured that since I get to help you with your problems, I'd return the favor." He leaned away from the shuttle slightly to give her one of his wide grins, to which she simply rolled her eyes. They continued to work in silence for about fifteen more minutes, until the job was done. "Are you free to leave campus?" Tom asked as he handed her the hypospanner.

B'Elanna frowned. "I have class tomorrow."

"That didn't answer my question."

"Yes, I can leave campus," she answered. "But why?"

He shrugged, his standard non-committal answer. "As a general rule, I get off-campus whenever possible. And I really want to get away from here tonight." He held up his hands defensively before she could respond. "Nowhere far, nowhere fancy, just not here."

She seemed to think about that for a moment. "What did you have in mind?"

About twenty minutes later, they were seated at a fairly empty Chinese restaurant that Tom hadn't visited since his first year, but seemed to recall had good food. During the walk over and while they studied the menu, Tom hadn't said a word about what was bothering him. After they put in their orders, B'Elanna was about to ask what was so urgent that it had to be discussed that night when Tom beat her to the punch.

"What did your mom say about you going to the Academy?"

The question floored her, to say the least. Their friendship was new enough that most of their conversations were limited to things involving classes, engines, or flying; personal lives came up occasionally, but parents were a strictly taboo subject. She didn't talk about his father, and he had never asked about her parents. They both knew where that line had been drawn. "What does that have to do with anything?" she asked, more sharply than she intended.

If he was put off by her tone, he hid it well. He shrugged his shoulders, staring down at a PADD he was spinning on the table. "I was just wondering if she reacted to you going to the Academy the same way my father reacted to me telling him I wanted to apply to the Rigel School of Flight."

Torres sighed. So much for conversational taboos. "It was the last thing we talked about," she admitted. "We were still fighting about it when I got on the transport for Earth. She accused me of being dishonorable and denying my Klingon heritage, said that I was trying to make myself something I'm not, trying to make myself human. She told me that no matter how long I wore this uniform, it wasn't going to make me any more human. I told her that no matter how long she made me stay in the house or listen to lectures on Klingon honor, it wasn't going to make me any more Klingon. That was the last time we spoke to each other."

He nodded slowly, not seeming surprised by her story. "I started flying in simulators when I was four, competing in them by the time I was five. My dad let me pilot a shuttle in space for the first time when I was eight. I still hold records for youth division flight competitions. All I wanted to do when I grew up was be a pilot—well, for awhile, I wanted to be a sailor, but that's another story—and when I was seventeen, a recruiter from Rigel came to one of my competitions and told me that they would be willing to sponsor my attendance at the school. I told my dad, and he was furious. Not the loud, yelling furious that I'm sure you got from your mom, but the quiet I'm-disappointed-that-you-would-even-think-that kind of furious. I got lectures about the privileges of serving in Starfleet, the Paris family tradition, all sorts of crap like that. He told me stories about being on the bridge of a Starfleet vessel, about loyalty to a captain, the pride in knowing that duties were fulfilled. I finally just let it go and took my entrance exam. I could have left the thing blank and they would have let me in."

"So what does this have to do with anything?" Torres asked as their food arrived, not willing to feel any sympathy for him.

He looked up at her for the first time since they sat down. "There was a problem with my posting assignments."

She frowned as she tried to pick up a vegetable with her chopsticks. "I thought postings weren't coming out until next week?"

"They aren't," he replied flatly, not even attempting the chopsticks as he stabbed a piece of meat with his fork. "But there was a problem, so they notified me."

"What's the problem?"

He sighed as he punched a few keys on the PADD. "I requested a posting as a flight controller, and was assigned to the _USS Exeter_."

"That's great!" B'Elanna exclaimed, then frowned at his expression. "Isn't it?"

He shrugged again, not replying as he took in another forkful of food. "It's what I requested, I guess. It's not a terribly exciting ship, centered around the base at Caldik Prime, but a junior flight controller does the same job on any ship, and since it has a base of operations, it's a posting that would be good for my career, supposedly."

"So what's the problem?"

He punched in a few more commands to the PADD. "I was also assigned to Starfleet R&D, Test Flight Division."

"Wow," B'Elanna replied quietly. She knew from her time spent around the Nova Squadron pilots that it was one of the most coveted postings among pilots, and it was almost unheard of for an ensign right out of the Academy being assigned there. "Everyone is always saying that that would be the perfect position for you, and I thought that's what you wanted. What's the problem?"

"When I made Nova Squadron my second year, my dad offered his congratulations and all that, and said that it would make an impressive entry in my applications for postings, which prompted a lecture on how I should be planning where I wanted to be posted already. I told him I wanted to work as a test pilot, and _that_ prompted another lecture on how it's too dangerous, and there aren't as many opportunities for career advancement, and I'd be behind my classmates in promotions, and serving on a ship and getting command training would be best for my career."

"But this is what _you_ want," Torres argued. "I thought you said that you decided that if you had to be in Starfleet anyway, you would do what you wanted to do and not what your dad wanted you to do. You should take the posting as a test pilot."

He shook his head. "I wish it were that simple, but it's not. I wish I could even say that I was being honest when I said that what my dad thinks doesn't matter to me anymore, but I can't. It does." He gave a frustrated groan. "Why is it that I still want to hear my father say he's proud of me?"

"I think you're being too hard on yourself, and on your father," B'Elanna replied. "You're the squad leader of one of the top collegiate flight programs in the Federation, you're going to be a Starfleet officer in six weeks, you were just invited to work at a position that most pilots can only dream of. You've done quite a lot to be proud of; what makes you think that your father doesn't agree?"

"He's not like that, B'Elanna," Paris replied, his voice bordering on anger. "Nothing is ever good enough for him, it always has to be something more. He only wants the best—the best grades, the best attitudes, the best postings. If I were promoted to admiral next year, he'd be asking why it took a whole year to get there."

She rolled her eyes at his exaggeration. "Give him a chance, Tom. Talk to him about your posting and tell him how you much you want to take this job. Maybe he'll surprise you."

He studied her face for a minute before responding, "Is that why you never wrote to your mother to tell her about all you've accomplished, about being the only first-year cadet to ever make the Nova Squadron engineering crew or about making it to the conference track meet in the decathlon? You afraid of how she'll react?"

She flushed in anger. "This isn't about me, Paris. This is about you and your father and taking a stand for something you believe in. You don't know anything about how I grew up, and you are _not_ allowed to make judgments about it. You don't know anything about my life."

"Then tell me!" he exclaimed. "You never talk about it. Your past is some secret that nobody is allowed to know about. What was so terrible about your childhood?"

She stood quickly, not stopping to think about the fact that they were in the middle of a restaurant. Her eyes narrowed into a glare in his direction. "I am _not_ going to talk about that with you, Paris. Not tonight. We didn't come here to talk about my childhood and my issues. You wanted my opinion on your problem, and when I gave it to you, you turned it into something about me. Why can't you just acknowledge your own problems for once?"

He stood too, and grabbed her by the forearms as he guided her out of the restaurant. She tried to twist out of his grasp, but his hold was too strong. "You're right," he said softly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make this about you. It's just," he looked down, away from her eyes. "It's just hard to deal with thinking about my father, so I try to avoid it."

"You can't avoid it forever," she replied, her anger dissipating. "And you can't avoid him, either. Talk to him. Maybe it will happen just as you expect and he'll tell you to take the job on the _Exeter_, or maybe he'll surprise you and give you his blessing to do whatever you want. You'll never know unless you _talk to him_."

They walked most of the way back to the Academy in silence, both of them surrounding by their own pensive silence. "Okay," he finally replied as they stood outside the door to her dorm. "I'll go talk to my father, but only on one condition."

"What's that?" she asked, not knowing what he would expect from her.

"If I have to talk to my father, you have to write to your mother. Maybe we'll both be surprised by our parents." He turned and left her standing there, her mouth hanging open in surprise.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: For those of you who haven't figured it out already, I'm making Nicholas Locarno and Tom Paris two different people, and I'm pretending that, while they do bear a certain resemblance to one another (as Cadet Siobhan Patel pointed out a few chapters back), that they aren't quite identical (which, of course, they are, as they were both played by Robert Duncan McNeill). Anyway, so Locarno is in this story, as is Sito Jaxa and the rest of the Nova Squadron team. They'll play a huge part in Part 2 of this story. Right now they're just bit players. And after reading through this chapter again, I don't really know why I felt the need to put this note at the beginning of this particular chapter, but it's here now, and I'm not changing it. Anyway.... enjoy._

* * *

Friday afternoon found Cadet B'Elanna Torres running across campus, her overnight bag slung across her chest. With the Rigel Cup less than four weeks away, the Nova Squadron was spending weekends rehearsing at the Academy Flight Range near Saturn, and she was running late for the transport for her first trip to the range. Most of the rest of the squad had been going for the last two weeks, but she had been busy with the track team, an obligation that ended with the conference meet the weekend before. She had been disappointed that she didn't make it to the North American or Earth competitions, but also relieved that she was able to finally give the Nova Squadron crafts her full attention. She was so focused on getting to the transporter station that she wasn't looking where she was going, and literally collided with someone heading the opposite direction. "Whoa, Cadet. What's the rush?"

After she recovered, she flushed darkly when she realized that, not only was the collision entirely her fault, but also that she had run right into an admiral. "Sorry, sir," she managed. "I'm running late for the Nova Squadron transport to the Flight Range. The ship leaves in five minutes."

"Ah," he replied, his blue eyes twinkling. "This must be your first trip to the Range."

"Yes, sir," she replied, wondering how he knew.

As if reading her mind, he leaned forward and said, "If it weren't, you would know that the squad leader is always running five minutes late." He straightened and gave her mock-stern gaze. "Carry on, Cadet, and be sure to watch where you're going."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," she replied as she resumed her trip, this time at a more reasonable pace.

"And Cadet Torres," he called out after her. She turned back to him. "Have fun out there."

She gave him a small smile. She was slightly taken aback by the fact that he knew her name, but figured that being known by the administration came with the territory of being the only half-Klingon cadet at the Academy. It wasn't as if his knowledge of her put him at an unfair advantage, however; despite it being her first time seeing the man face-to-face, she had instantly recognized who he was. "Thank you, Admiral Paris."

---

The Nova Squadron transport shuttle wasn't anything fancy: a shuttlebay for the five small ships, a forward compartment for the lieutenant running the controls, and an aft compartment with a few tables, chairs, and couches for the student pilots and engineers. For the first hour of the four hour trip to Saturn, the pilots and engineers positioned themselves in opposite corners of the aft compartment, holding separate meetings. The pilots planned on hitting the range as soon as they arrived and had a flight plan to put together; the engineers, knowing that they wouldn't have any ships to work on for the first few hours at the range, spent most of their meeting joking about the repairs they would have to make after the pilots called it a night.

After the meeting, Torres found a corner away from the rest of the students and sat there with a blank PADD. For a few minutes, she just stared at the PADD. The longer she looked at it, the more frustrated she got. "Report for class?" a soft voice asked.

B'Elanna looked up sharply into the friendly face of Cadet Sito Jaxa. Torres didn't know the Bajoran third classman very well; she was quiet and tended to keep to herself or the other pilots, but the few times she had cause to talk to the younger engineer, she had seemed nice enough. "Letter home, actually," Torres finally admitted. "I just don't know where to start."

"Oh," Sito said, taking the seat next to Torres. "Do you go home often?"

Torres gave a short laugh. "I haven't been there since I left for the Academy last June."

"I didn't get to go home at all last year, either," Sito replied. "I had never even been off Bajor until I left for the Academy. It was really hard to be so far away, especially for my parents. I'm the youngest of four kids, I think they took the idea of us growing up really hard. If it weren't for our letters back and forth, I don't know if any of us would have made it through the year."

"It's a little different for me," Torres retorted, not really sure why she was confiding in the blond pilot. "My mother and I weren't exactly close when I was growing up. She didn't even want me to go the Academy. We were still fighting about it when I got on the transport for Earth, and we haven't spoken since."

"I don't think it matters what you say," Sito said. "I think your mother would just like to hear from you."

"You don't know my mother."

Sito gave her a slight smile, but didn't say anything. The two cadets sat together in silence for a few minutes. B'Elanna had gotten as far as addressing the letter when her thoughts were interrupted by Sito's soft voice again. "Hello, Tom."

Torres looked up quickly to see Paris standing over her. "Hey," she said with a lightness she didn't feel. They hadn't spoken for the last few days, since their scene in the restaurant. "I ran into your dad today."

"Oh?" Paris asked, raising his eyebrows. "And what did the Admiral have to say?"

Torres grinned. "He told me to watch where I was going." At Paris' confused expression, she chuckled slightly. "I _literally_ ran into your father. I thought I was going to be late for the transport."

"So what are you working on?" he asked, taking a seat next to Sito at the table.

She glanced up at him, a slight look of challenge in her eyes. "Writing a letter to my mother."

"Right," he snorted. Catching her unaware, he grabbed the PADD from her hand.

"Tom," Sito said with a slightly warning tone. "You shouldn't read other people's mail."

"It's okay, Jaxa, it's a deal we have going," he told her. He hit a few buttons and read aloud, "'Miral, daughter of L'Naan, House of T'Krol, C/O Klingon Embassy, San Francisco.'" He looked up at her. "You've gotten far."

"Give me that," Torres said, forcibly taking the PADD from him. "It took me long enough to figure out how to address it. I don't even know where she's living these days. She mentioned moving to Qo'noS when I left, but I don't know if she actually did or not." She looked sharply at him. "Have you talked to your father yet?"

"I didn't think you'd hold up your end of the bargain," he admitted.

"Well, I am," she replied shortly. "And you don't have much time before they'll want a decision."

"Then you better get writing," he smirked as he got up. She glared at his back as he walked away. Cadet Sito, who had sat quietly during the exchange, simply shook her head in confusion before getting up to talk to one of the other pilots.

---

"Torres, get over here," Cadet Siobhan Patel ordered, waving the younger woman to a panel of consoles. "Part of our jobs here at the range and at Rigel Cup is to monitor the crafts when they're in flight. You're going to watching over Addison. We're looking primarily at main systems, such as impulse, structural integrity, and life support, but keep an eye on the auxiliaries as well, and I also want you to be monitoring engine output, plasma flow, ion flux, and such, so we can keep on top of repairs and possible improvements. Above all, keep a lock on vital signs. If anything catastrophic happens, such as a hull breach, or life support failure, or just randomly passing out, beam him out right away. The pilots have the ability to beam themselves out, but obviously can't do that if they're unconscious, so don't get lazy. Also, you can open up a comm line to them, but don't do that unless there's a real problem coming, such as an impending collision or decrease in structural integrity. If you try to keep them up to date on things they don't know how to control anyway, such as plasma flow, they'll get really annoyed at you for breaking their concentration. Got that?"

"Yeah, I think so," Torres replied, slightly uncertain.

"Good," Patel replied, giving her a tight smile. "If you don't mess this up, you'll be going with the team to Rigel."

"Really? I thought you could only take seven engineers."

"That's right," Patel replied, talking quickly as she set up her own console. "Kelley and Ferreras will already be out at Utopia Planitia to begin their summer sessions, so they can't go, which leaves eight. I want to take you instead of Houk."

"But she's been on the team longer."

Patel gave her a quick glance as she powered up another screen. "You're a better engineer than she is," she replied in clipped tones. "Jacks! Haef! Get over here and get your stations going! If our pilots are delayed because you're not ready, they're going to make this weekend hell for all of us!"

She watched with a slightly satisfied smile as the two cadets ran from the view ports to the monitoring stations, then turned back to Torres, speaking in a commanding tone. "Our engineering team has a reputation to uphold at Rigel, and we need our best people there to keep it up. Don't let me down."


	10. Chapter 10

B'Elanna Torres was reading from a PADD while half-sitting, half-reclining on a small bed in the quest cadet quarters she shared with Siobhan Patel when the door chimed. "Come in," she replied automatically.

The door slid open to reveal Tom Paris, still in his flight suit from a few hours before, looking as if he hadn't rested at all since then, which he probably hadn't. After the pilots had brought their crafts back in at the conclusion of a three hour practice, he had immediately discussed their performance with the squad's commanding officer, then relayed the information to the other pilots so they could discuss ways to improve before the next morning's session. Meanwhile, the engineers had run their own analyses of the sensor data they collected during the practice and begun making necessary repairs and improvements. "If you're looking for Siobhan, I don't know where she it," B'Elanna informed him with a slight frown on her face. It was late, and they all needed a chance to rest before doing everything again the next day.

"I know," Paris replied, sitting on the empty bed across the small room. He rubbed his face in his hands before opening his eyes to study the engineer. Her boots had been kicked off under the bed, her uniform jacket discarded in a heap next to her. She was clad in her trousers and tank top, her body twisted in what appeared to be an uncomfortable position, but he really didn't know how flexible Klingon spines were; maybe it was comfortable. Long tendrils of hair had worked their way out of her braid, and he had to resist the temptation to cross the room and smooth them away from her face. In his current fatigued state, he was sure he didn't have the self-control to stop there. He pushed aside that thought and addressed her earlier comment. "I know where she is, and you probably won't see her until tomorrow morning at breakfast. I came to talk to you."

"I already handed in my report on Addison's shuttle," Torres replied automatically. "So where's Siobhan?"

"Ensign Meyer's apartment. I saw your report; it looks good. I didn't come about that."

"Who's Ensign Meyer?"

"One of the range officers. They'll be playing sleep-over all weekend."

"Oh," Torres replied, slightly confused. She didn't see how Patel could have the energy for any sort of romantic tryst after the long day they had just had, with two more long days coming before heading back to Earth. "I didn't know she was dating anybody."

Paris chuckled. "I don't know if I'd call it _dating_. That implies some sort of emotional interaction. Siobhan likes to keep emotion out of the equation. She has all sorts of intimacy issues." He shrugged. "I've never asked, she's never explained. All I know is that neither she nor Ensign Meyer are expecting anything more than sex."

"Oh." Torres frowned again, trying to fit that into what she knew about the older engineer. "Siobhan didn't strike me as the type to be so flighty."

"I wouldn't call her flighty," Paris replied, leaning back on the narrow bed to rest his head against the wall. "She knows exactly what she's after, and she makes sure that whoever the guy is knows as well. She stays away from any situation where anything more might be expected. Usually works out for both parties involved. There are quite a few guys who would love to have one night or one weekend with a centered, self-confident, intelligent gymnast with a cute British accent."

Torres eyed him from across the room. "Including you?" she asked, too fatigued to care that it might sound like she was jealous.

Paris snorted. "No, we've never been more than friends. I prefer a bit more of a challenge," he added, giving her a suggestive wink. "But it's why Siobhan and Ryan don't really get along, and part of the reason why none of us can stand Locarno."

"How's that?"

He yawned, suddenly aware of the fact that he had been moving non-stop since classes that morning. "Sorry. Anyway, second year, Ryan really had it bad for Siobhan, and probably asked her out twenty times, but she just turned him down flat each time. Like I said, she doesn't like emotional involvement, and he was already involved. He tried to shrug it off, but seeing her picking up random guys at the bars finally got to him, and the night we had found out that we were accepted to Nova Squadron, there was a lot of alcohol involved, both said things they didn't really mean, and they haven't been the same since. And then third year, after Locarno made the squad, she misjudged him, thought he'd be okay with a one-night stand, but he turned it into a production at Nova Squadron practices, and when she finally told him to stop, that it wasn't going to happen again, he told Gial, one of our friends, that they slept together."

"So?" she asked, wondering what the Bajoran pre-law student she met once had to do with anything.

"Siobhan and Gial both have their own little unique set of issues, but they both really like each other—as in, will probably end up married someday, if they can ever get over whatever it is that's holding them back. Everyone who has spent time with the two of them together knows this. I don't know what Locarno thought he was doing by telling Gial they had sex—he probably already knew—but Siobhan was really embarrassed by it, so much so that she would leave the room if Gial entered. She was furious with Locarno for sinking that low, and I find it hard to be friends with a guy who would do something like that. Anyway," he said, changed the subject, "now that I've revealed the personal life of three of my closest friends, what I _really_ came here to tell you is that I made an appointment to talk to my father on Monday."

"You made an appointment?" she asked, making a face. "He's your _father_, can't you just talk to him?"

"I figured that since we're going to be discussing Starfleet business, it should be in a professional setting," he replied. "How's your letter to your mother coming?"

"I was just proofreading it when you came in," she replied and a sigh. "I still don't know if I'm saying the right things."

"Can I see?" he asked holding out his hand, but she didn't pass the PADD over.

"It's personal," she replied, a bit of an edge to her voice.

He gave her a smile that failed to reach his eyes as he dropped his hand to his lap. "I was hoping you said something that would help me figure out what to say to my father." His voice was annoyingly casual.

Although she was frustrated at his persistent façade of disinterest, she let it go, too tired to get into an argument that night. "Not unless your father is a militant Klingon woman, and you spent the last year running the decathlon and fixing slower-than-light crafts," she replied, trying to match the casual tone in his voice.

"Well, he's a Starfleet Admiral, and I'm a constant screw-up, so I guess not." There was no use trying to emulate that light tone; he had mastered it years ago.

"Just _talk_ to him. Tell him what's going through your mind," Torres advised. "When I was trying to figure out how to start my letter to my mother, Sito said that it didn't really matter what I say, that my mother would be happy just to hear from me." She gave a short laugh. "I don't know if _that's_ true, but I'm sure your father would appreciate the fact that you were discussing this with him, even if you don't agree in the end."

Paris sighed, rubbing his face again. "I just want him to think I'm doing something right for once. I wish he could be proud of who I _am_, not who he wants me to be."

Remembering the light look in his father's eyes when she ran into him earlier that day, Torres softly replied, "I'm sure he is. You just need to give him a chance to say it."

"I'm tired of waiting for that chance to come up," Paris retorted as he stood. "I should get going. We have a long day in front of us tomorrow, and there's going to be a group of first-year flight students just waiting to be impressed by the Nova Squadron squad leader. I can't disappoint my audience. You never know how many attractive young ladies will be watching."

"Tom," Torres said, stopping him before he exited through the door. "Why do you do that? Why do you say things and act like you don't care what other people—what I—think about you, when clearly you do?"

He stopped and stared at her for a minute before responding. "Because, Torres, I can't let myself care about what you think of me." He turned and left the room.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: This chapter is a bit shorter than the others. Sorry._

_I feel the need to explain something before this chapter. I don't think Admiral Paris, nor Miral Torres, are inherently evil people. I think they're just parents who were faced with children they didn't quite know how to raise, and they made quite a few mistakes while doing so. Maybe that'll make more sense after this chapter._

* * *

Cadet Tom Paris tried to sit still as he waited in his father's outer office, but he was never one to sit still, even when he wasn't nervous, as he was now. He had arrived early for his appointment, something he never did, and for once, his father was running late. _Ah, the ironies of life..._

He stood when the door to the inner office slid open, allowing a petite captain with auburn hair to exit. "Cadet," she said with a slight nod of her head when she noticed him.

"Captain," he replied, standing at attention. She gave a small smile as she walked by.

"Come on in, Tom," his father called from his position at his desk. He gestured for his son to have a seat. "That was Kathryn Janeway. I don't know if you remember her, she was a junior science officer on the _Al-Batani_."

Tom did the math quickly in his head; if that were her first posting after graduation from the Academy, she had risen from ensign to captain in fourteen years. "Must have been an impressive career."

"She's an impressive officer," Admiral Owen Paris replied. He cleared his throat. "I must admit, I was surprised when I saw you on my schedule for today. I would have thought that you'd be busy with preparations for the Rigel Cup."

Tom flushed slightly, wondering if the words were meant to imply that the admiral thought that he was being negligent in his duties, and was about to give a short retort about how his father should be thankful that he using one of the only free blocks of time the cadet had to come and speak with him. Instead, he remembered what B'Elanna had said about his father being glad to be included, and swallowed the temptation. He said, "Well, I had a problem that needed solving quickly, and I thought you would be able to help."

A look passed over his father's face, so quick Tom wasn't sure if it had been there or if he had imagined it. "I'll do what I can to help, son. What is it?"

Tom found himself twiddling his thumbs, and had to consciously separate his hands and place them on his thighs. "Apparently, I was posted two different places. Admiral Parkinson let me know so I could make a decision."

"Yes, I know," Admiral Paris replied. "She told me. I was waiting to see what you would decide. I'm a bit surprised you're seeking my counsel."

"Why's that?" Tom asked, genuinely confused. He thought that the admiral would expect him to ask for his opinion.

"You've never asked what I thought before."

"I'm thinking of taking the posting with the Test Flight Center," Tom blurted out, then winced inwardly. He had a speech prepared, and just blew it.

His father raised his eyebrows. "The _Exeter_ would be better for your career. Promotions are harder to come by in the test pilot division."

"I know," Tom replied. "But this is something that I've always wanted to do, and nothing is permanent. If I want, I can request a ship's posting after a few years. I just want a chance to try."

Admiral Paris sighed. "Being a test pilot is dangerous, Tom. Those ships haven't been completely checked out. Even a minor malfunction can have fatal results. There are more fatalities crashes in the test flight division than any other in all of Starfleet." He sighed again. "But you already know that, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," Tom replied.

"I know we haven't always seen eye to eye on things, Tom, but I really do want what's best for you."

Tom took a deep breath and looked down, then back up at his father with a slightly defiant smile. "With all due respect, how do you know what's best for me? Is it what's best for my career? For the Paris family legacy?"

"For your _life_, Tom," Owen replied emphatically. "I don't want to see anything to happen to you. You're my _son_."

"I'm in Starfleet, Dad! There's a risk of death with _every_ posting. The _Exeter_ is centered on Caldik Prime, which has ion storms that bring down shuttles all the time. Do you have a guarantee that one of the storms won't bring _me_ down? Or an away mission gone bad, or a plasma conduit exploding? There are a million things that can kill Starfleet officers." He lowered his voice slightly. "I'm a good pilot, Dad. The test flight division needs good pilots to make sure that they don't release ships that could cause deaths at the hands of some not-so-good pilots. I could help save lives."

"You sound like you've given this some thought," Admiral Paris said after a pause. "I can't say I'm pleased with your decision, and your mother is going to worry even more than she does already, but if you're sure about this, you should do it."

Tom wasn't sure he heard that right. "Really?"

To his surprise, his father laughed. "When I was your age, I wanted a posting as a junior science officer on the _Excelsior_. Your grandfather tried to convince me to get my doctorate, but I was adamant. After a few years, I realized that, without a Ph.D., I was pretty limited in my options, so I went back to school and got it. My father was right, but I wouldn't trade those years for anything."

Tom stared at his father for a moment. "Why didn't you ever tell me about that?"

Owen looked him directly in the eye. "I was waiting for there to be something that you were that passionate about, passionate enough to be willing to stand up to me. I'm glad you finally found that."

"Thanks. I think," Tom replied. He cleared his throat and glanced at his the clock on his father's desk. "I need to get going. Nova Squadron practice."

"I wouldn't want to keep you," Owen replied. As Tom stood and headed for the door, he added, "And Tom? Thanks for coming in to talk."

Tom paused at the door for a moment. "Thanks for listening."


	12. Chapter 12

"Nova Squadron, Starfleet Academy Earth, you're up in thirty minutes. Nova Squadron Earth, thirty minutes." The voice over the comm system was enough to jolt everyone on the Nova Squadron team out of their respective reveries.

"They're good," Cadet Amy Chou said in awe, watching the Nova Squadron team from Starfleet Academy Beta Aquilae II.

"We're better," Cadet Siobhan Patel said brusquely as she approached her group of engineers. "We have a change of plans. We just found a glitch in Hajar's plasma injectors. Apparently, something blew yesterday during prelims, and she didn't feel the need to tell us. Fortunately, it's minor, and shouldn't cause any problems. Amy, you did a good job monitoring her yesterday, but we need someone more experienced on this today in case something happens. I would take it, but I need to take the master controls. Jacks, you're on Hajar. Emily, you're the only other one who's had any practice with the auxiliary console, so take Jacks' position. Amy, you're on Sito. James, Xi, take the positions you had yesterday, and B'Elanna, that leaves you with Paris." She eyed her engineers as she tugged on her green Nova Squadron Earth jacket. "This is it, guys. All of the practices, all of the late nights making repairs, all of the other competitions, have been to prepare for this, and we're ready. We're good. I know that each of you has given your all to this team, and I couldn't ask for a better group of engineers. If there's anyone who can do this, it's you guys, and I'm proud of each one of you. Now, let's go do this."

"Good pep talk, Patel," Tom Paris said over her shoulder. "I'd like to add something. You guys have done a great job this year. In the years I've been on the squad, the ships have never performed as well as they have this year. We've counted on you for quite a lot, and even though we don't show it very well, we appreciate everything you've done. My pilots are a little bit freaked out right now, but they feel better knowing that you guys are watching our backs. You guys know this routine in ways that we don't, and we're counting on that today."

He paused as the comm system chirped again. "Nova Squadron, Starfleet Academy Earth, you're up in ten minutes. Pilots for Nova Squadron Earth, please report to your crafts."

"Guess that's my cue," he said with a grin. "One last good performance. Let's do this." He gave Petel a quick hug, winked at Torres, and jogged off to the flight deck.

"You heard him," Patel said, jerking her head toward the bank of consoles. "Let's do this."

As B'Elanna set up her console, she watched Siobhan out of the corner of her eye. She was doing the same thing she did every time she prepared for a launch: she scanned the console with her eyes, pulled her hair into a bun tight enough to withstand even the most complicated routines on the balance beam, tugged the front of her uniform jacket, rubbed her Nova Squadron patch, pushed up her sleeves, and opened the comm link to the pilots. "Patel to Nova Squadron Earth pilots, please confirm open comm link."

After the pilots confirmed the link, Patel nodded to herself. "Control one, ready for launch."

"Control two, ready for launch," Cadet Emily Qushant stated. The other five engineers echoed.

"Depressurizing shuttle bay doors," Patel stated. "Good luck, and God speed." It was the same thing she said every time before the pilots took off. She had never explained to anyone what those words were supposed to mean, and nobody had really ever asked. Torres guessed it was some sort of inside history-thing between her and Paris, and didn't care enough to actually find out.

During the ten minute routine, Torres fully saw for the first time why Paris was such a good squad leader. She had seen how good his piloting was before, but this was the first time she had done so while monitoring him. His movements seemed almost instinctive as he easily compensated for slight errors in his teammate's positioning, and glancing down at his vital signs, she saw that his heart rate was fifty-four beats per minute—his heart actually _slowed _when he flew, unlike the other pilots on the squad, who were driven by adrenaline when at the helm. Not only that, but he knew his craft better than the engineers. She noticed a power fluctuation, and even as she opened her mouth to inform him of the problem, she heard his voice announce, "I'm reading a fluctuation in my starboard thrusters, attempting to compensate." A few seconds later, the readings had normalized. Through the incident, which only lasted about ten seconds, he didn't miss a beat, keeping his craft in motion exactly where it should have been.

She watched her console carefully as the pilots positioned themselves for their final maneuver, the Yamiguchi Flower, not as technically difficult as the Yeager Loop, but more impressive visually. The control room went silent as the seven engineers held their breathes as one, intently studying their monitors for any sign of trouble as the five crafts spiraled upwards as a unit before peeling off in an inverted position, giving the impression of a blooming flower.

"Perfect," Patel whispered as they finished the maneuver, positioning themselves for re-entry to the shuttle bay. Torres smiled thinly; she had never heard the older engineer refer to anything as "perfect", but she couldn't argue with the assessment. That was the best Flower they had ever done.

"Opening shuttle bay doors for re-entry," Patel announced, her composure again intact. "Good job, team."

All grinning from the relief of another routine gone well, the engineers all quickly powered down their stations and headed out of the control room to meet up with the pilots.

---

Cadet Tom Paris took a deep breath as he tried to sit still in his seat in the auditorium of the Rigel School of Flight, waiting for the award ceremony to begin. He had maintained a cool façade to his pilots over the past few weeks, but deep down, he wanted to win the competition, wanted to be the first Nova Squadron leader to bring home the cup in almost fifteen years. After their routine, he had been sure that they had done it. Then he went up to the observation deck and saw the elite team from Rigel compete, and now he wasn't so sure.

He turned his head quickly in surprise when he felt someone take his right hand and give it a squeeze. Siobhan tried to give him a reassuring glance, but he could tell that she was just as nervous as he was. The Nova Squadron Earth engineering team had a reputation to uphold; they had been the top engineering team every year for the past ten years, and she didn't want to be the chief that lost that for them.

"Good afternoon," the booming voice of the head of the Rigel School of Flight opening, hushing the crowd. Tom gave Siobhan's hand another quick squeeze before releasing it, resting both hands on his lap. This was it.

He sat patiently, more or less, as he listened to the words about how admirably all teams had performed that day, how everyone had shown maturity in flight and character in excess of what would ordinarily be expected from students. After what seemed like hours, but was probably only about fifteen minutes, they began announcing the awards.

The first few awards weren't of any consequence to most in attendance: top sponsor, top instructor, top ship designer. The audience applauded politely after each was announced, but everyone was at the edge of their seats, waiting to hear about the big prizes.

"And our next category is top student engineering team," the announcer proclaimed. Paris heard a sharp intake of breath to his right, and saw Patel straighten in her chair, but didn't say anything. "This award goes to an engineering team that shows ingenuity in their repairs and designs, professionalism in their actions, and cohesiveness as a unit. Over the years, we have seen a number of excellent teams, but this one is truly exceptional. Under the guidance of advisor Admiral Alexander Chapman and student chief engineer Cadet First Class Siobhan Patel, for the eleventh year in a row, the Nova Squadron engineering team from Starfleet Academy Earth!"

All twelve of the cadets from Starfleet Academy Earth stood and cheered as the seven engineers made their way to the front of the auditorium to collect their awards. The five pilots were still standing and applauding as the small medals were clipped to the front of the uniforms of the engineers. Paris caught the look on Torres' face, and his grin widened. She looked surprised, but he had never seen such a large smile on her face.

After the commotion had died down, the announcer continued. "Every year, we recognize one pilot who had distinguished him or herself throughout the competition, not only for superior piloting skills, but also exhibiting traits such as leadership, determination, creativity, and the ability to work well with others. This year's recipient of the Owami yer Telesia Award of Flight has demonstrated those skills by creating an environment of open discourse with his squad, encouraging all members of the flight and engineering teams to work together to come up with solutions to the problems they faced. When faced with an unexpected change of circumstances before the final competition, he did not worry, because he knew that his pilots and engineers would have the situation under control. While in flight, he showed an ability to think quickly, making corrections to rapidly changing circumstances with ease. It is my pleasure to announce this year's Owami yer Telesia recipient, from Nova Squadron of Starfleet Academy Earth, Cadet First Class Thomas Paris."

The Starfleet Academy Earth section again erupted in deafening cheers, even as Paris remained sitting, in shock of hearing his name announced. Even in his dreams of taking home the Rigel Cup, he never imagined that he would win the Award of Flight, one of the highest honors in collegiate piloting competitions.

"Get up there!" Siobhan ordered with a laugh, pulling him to his feet. "Your fans are going wild."

He grinned down at her and wrapped his arms around her tiny form for a quick hug. "Couldn't have done it without you," he said sincerely as he released her to make his way to the stage. He stood there, looking out at the audience as the head of the Rigel School of Flight pinned the medal to his flight suit. Most people were still clapping politely, but the other eleven cadets from his team and his commanding officers were still standing and cheering. It was the first time that someone from Starfleet Academy Earth had earned the award, and they were all thrilled to be able to say that it was one of their own.

As he headed back to his seat, he caught Torres' eye, and couldn't help but grin as she gave him a wink and a smile. He was still grinning as he took his seat, the sounds gradually dying down as the audience prepared to hear the announcements of the final awards.

"And now, the time you've all been waiting for: the final team standings. The teams are scored out of a possible five hundred points on criteria such as ship design, maintenance, difficulty of routine, execution of that routine, leadership skills, and professional behavior. In third place, with 468 points, under the leadership of Captain Yersia Huyrl and squad leader Cadet First Class Katrina Duell, Nova Squadron from Starfleet Academy Beta Aquilae II." The twelve cadets from the Academy satellite campus were cheering and grinning as they made their way up to the front. It was the first time that the team from Beta Aquilae II had made it to the top three, and everyone could see how excited they were as the judges pinned their medals on their dark blue uniforms.

"And in second place, with 484 points," the announcer continued as the applause died down. "Under the leadership of Captain Melissa Rawlings and squad leader Cadet First Class Thomas Paris, Nova Squadron, Starfleet Academy Earth."

As Tom led the other eleven cadets toward the stage, he knew he should have been proud of their accomplishment, but couldn't help feeling disappointed that they weren't taking home the cup. As he felt the medal being pinned to his chest, he glanced over at the squad leader from Beta Aquilae II, who was grinning widely at him, clearly thrilled at her team's accomplishment. He grinned back and mouthed, "Congratulations," to the tall redhead, who mouthed back, "You, too."

"And finally," the announcer said, "with an unprecedented 491 points, this year's winners of the Rigel Cup, under the leadership of Professor Sero yet Poily and student leader Selpats Eriatilos, the Elite Flight team from Rigel School of Flight." Tom watched the twelve students, mostly Rigelians, make their way somberly to the front of the auditorium to receive their medals. They didn't seem terribly excited with the news that they had won the cup yet again, and Tom couldn't help but feel annoyed that they treated something he had strived for with such indifference. He caught Nick Locarno's eye, who had apparently come to the conclusion. With a slight smile, Locarno mouthed, "Next year," to his squad leader. Despite his personal feelings toward the younger pilot, Paris couldn't help but grin at his confidence and determination.


	13. Chapter 13

After the awards ceremony, the competition organizers and the sports section of almost every major publication in the Federation wanted to take pictures, which seemed to take forever. The photographers wanted team shots of each of the teams, then one with all the Starfleet Academy teams, all of the award winners, the squad leaders of the three winning teams, all of the seniors, and just about every other combination possible. By the time it was over, Tom Paris felt as exhausted as if he had just finished a three hour practice after a full day of classes.

But the night wasn't over yet. Every year following the competition was a formal mixer, a chance for all of the competing students to meet and spent time together in an off-duty setting, invariably one of the nicer conference sites on Rigel. The advisors and commanding officers typically mingled with the students for an hour or so, then all went their separate ways by some unspoken agreement to let the kids have their own party.

"I can't believe this is it, Tommy boy," Ryan Addison said with a touch of sadness in his voice as they made their way down the street. "Our last Rigel Cup mixer. Does this mean we have to grow up now?"

"I hope not," Paris replied with a quirky grin as he smoothed the lines of his dark blue jacket. "That seems incredibly boring."

"Well, if nothing else, we get one last chance for a Rigel one-night stand."

"Ryan, you say that every year, and every year, the only one of us who actually gets a one-night stand at Rigel is Siobhan."

"I heard that," a light voice said from behind them. Both boys turned to see the tiny figure of Siobhan Patel approach, her trim body in a strapless green dress that brought out the slight green to her eyes, her wavy hair elegantly pinned at the nape of her neck. "It's not my fault you two are woefully inadequate at picking up dates at these things."

"It's much easier for girls," Ryan argued as the trio continued their trip toward the mixer. "Show me one guy who would turn an attractive girl offering one night with no strings attached, and I'll show you a real Vulky."

"Please, Ryan," she replied with a roll of her eyes. "It's the 24th century. If you have problems picking up girls, the problem is you, not the girls." She turned to Paris and raised an eyebrow. "Although you, Tom, might get lucky tonight. I saw the way that squad leader from Beta Aquilae was looking at you during the photo session." He chuckled slightly, but didn't respond as they entered modern-looking building where the mixer was held. For some reason, the idea of a pointless conquest didn't seem all that exciting to him that night.

B'Elanna Torres was already at the bar when the three older cadets came in, and while she noticed their entrance, she didn't wave them over. This would be one of the last nights that they would have together before going their separate ways after graduation, and she didn't want to intrude on that. She thanked the bartender and took her glass to one of the large windows of the main area. She took a sip of her wine as she stared out of the clear wall to the night sky outside. Even now, almost a year since she left Kessik IV, she still wasn't used to seeing the stars differently than she had growing up.

"I know I'm not the first, but I'd like to offer my congratulations," a gruff voice said from behind her. She jumped slightly at turned to see Admiral Chapman standing about two meters behind her.

"I didn't mean to startle you, Cadet," he said, stepping forward so he was standing next to her, also looking out at the stars.

"I guess I was a little lost in my thoughts, sir," Torres replied.

"It is quite a sight out there," he agreed, his eyes not leaving the stars. "I wasn't much older than you the first time I saw the night sky from Rigel. I was quite moved by it, myself." Torres found it hard to believe that the stern old engineer had ever been moved by anything, but she kept her comments to herself. He continued to speak, not noticing her silence. "I was wondering, Cadet, what your plans were for the summer session."

B'Elanna took another sip of wine before answering. "I was going to put in an application for a summer exchange at the Klingon Institute of Engineering as soon as we got back to the Academy."

Admiral Chapman frowned slightly, still facing outside. "Most students wait until the summer after the second or third year to do an exchange program."

"I've had the engineering courses of most second-year students," Torres pointed out.

"Yes, I'm aware," Chapman replied, nodding slightly. "I noticed that you're enrolled in my class for the fall, Impulse Mechanics. It's a third year course." He took a sip from his own drink, still facing outside. "I have no doubt that you have the engineering background for a summer exchange, I'm just a bit concerned that you haven't had enough general Starfleet courses to prepare you for the experience. Cadets in exchange programs are expected to represent the Academy and act accordingly. Even half-Klingon cadets."

She flushed slightly at the insinuation that she wouldn't be able to control herself, but didn't respond. She turned to face him and realized that he was finally looking in her direction. "I'd like you to consider staying at the Academy for the summer and taking some general courses while working in my lab." At her surprised look, he continued, "I admit, I'm not personally familiar with your work, but Cadet Patel has been singing your praises for months, and I trust her judgment explicitly. You came to the Academy with an impressive resume, and you've continued to build on that over the past year. You can go far at the Academy, with the proper guidance." His dark eyes bored into hers. "When Cadet Patel graduates, I'm losing my protégé to the _Enterprise_. If you are interested, I would be interested in mentoring you."

"And that includes staying on campus this summer?" Torres asked with a slight frown. She didn't know what to make of Chapman's offer; she had only met him a few times, despite the fact that he was technically the advisor for the Nova Squadron engineering team.

"From what Cadet Patel says, you have a good mind for research. At the rate you're going through the engineering courses, you'll be finished with the required courses for the major after the fall semester your third year. You can spend the remaining time doing research at R&D, Utopia Planitia, Jupiter Station, aboard a starship, at the Klingon Institute of Engineering, wherever you want. To have that kind of freedom in your schedule, you would have to take some classes this summer and additional classes during the school year. I would be glad to sit down with you and work out a tentative schedule for your remaining years at the Academy when we return to San Francisco, if you wish."

B'Elanna didn't know what to say to that; everything seemed to be happening so quickly. She knew her work was good, but didn't think it was good enough to get the attention of one of Starfleet's premier engineers. "You should take him up on it," a third voice said from behind Admiral Chapman.

"Cadet Patel," Admiral Chapman stated, a smile on his face. Siobhan stepped forward and gave the man a nod and quick grin before turning back to Torres.

"The work is interesting and very helpful to Nova Squadron, and when it comes to getting interesting positions for summer sessions and postings, having the backing of Admiral Chapman goes a long way." She turned back to the Admiral. "And if you excuse us, Admiral, I'm going to take my engineer so we can have a proper celebration." She gave him an innocent smile as she took Torres by the elbow and guided her toward the crowds.

"He's a good engineer and a great mentor," Patel said after they were out of Admiral Chapman's earshot. "But a bit long-winded. He would have you standing there listening to arguments for why you should work him until it was time for us to get on the transports back to the Academy if I hadn't pulled you away. Come on, we're getting a round." She made a face. "Well, maybe a round of synthehol. We don't hit the real stuff until the adults are out of our hair."

She guided her over to one of the bars, where Addison, Paris, and the squad leader from Beta Aquilae were gathered. She frowned slightly at the sight of the tall redhead, and then fought to keep her expression neutral when Tom looked up and saw her standing there. His eyes widened slightly, then he recovered and gave her a roguish smile as he made a show of grazing his eyes over her body. "You clean up well, Torres," he drawled. "I don't see a single spot of plasma coolant." She had traded her green Nova Squadron uniform for a deep red, low cut dress that Siobhan had picked out and insisted she wear, her long curls pinned behind her ears and tumbling past her shoulders.

"You don't look so bad yourself," she teased, letting her eyes travel down his body and back up again, taking in the bright blue shirt and darker jacket, fit to accentuate his tall, trim body.

Tom felt his ears turn pink under the scrutiny of her gaze, which made him very glad the lights were dim enough that nobody else could notice. He hid his discomfort by taking a long pull of his beer. "So, when'd you get here?" he asked, once he felt his voice had recovered.

"I was already here when you three came in," she replied.

"I caught Chapman offering her a position as a research assistant," Siobhan informed them.

"You should take it," Paris replied without a pause. "Working with Chapman got Siobhan a posting on the _Enterprise_."

"Oh, you're going to the _Enterprise_?" Katrina Duell asked. "Me, too! We'll be shipmates!"

"Looking forward to it," Patel replied, keeping her voice even, even as she glanced sideways at Torres and rolled her eyes. B'Elanna had to bite back her grin.

"What about you, Tom?" Duell continued, grabbing his arm and leaning slightly into him. "Where are you posted?"

Torres couldn't contain her grin at the uncomfortable look that crossed Tom's face. "R and D," he replied. "Test flight division."

Duell's already big green eyes went even wider. "Wow, test pilot! That's very impressive," she gushed as she squeezed his arm.

He cleared his throat, missing the amused glance Addison shot Patel over his shoulder. "Yeah. Anyway, I believe we promised these lovely ladies a round. Torres, you call it. What's your poison?"

B'Elanna wasn't much of a drinker; before the Academy, she hadn't had so much as a drink of synthehol, with the exception of the blood wine she once swiped from her mother's room. She was sick for the next two days. "I'm up for anything. Siobhan, you're the chief, why don't you pick?"

"We breaking into the real stuff yet?" Patel asked, looking around for any professors or officers. Not seeing any, she answered, "Irish whiskey, the good stuff."

Paris nodded his approval and leaned over to put the order in with the bartender. A minute later, he distributed the six glasses. He cleared his throat as he straightened to his full height. "To our engineers, for their eleventh victory in a row, especially the chiefs, past and future."

Torres snorted at the thought of someday being the chief, but raised her glass with the others before downing her drink. Duell looked vaguely uncomfortable at drinking to her competition's engineering section, but must have figured that they were all Starfleet and she was about to graduate anyway, so it was acceptable.

"And what about the yer Telesia pilot? Shouldn't we be drinking to him?" Duell asked flirtatiously, leaning against Paris' arm.

"Believe me, his ego doesn't need the boost," Siobhan replied dryly, setting her glass on the bar. "And if you'll excuse us, Torres and I are going to find some more guys who want to get us a round to congratulate us," she said sweetly, leading B'Elanna away by the elbow.

"We are?" Torres asked, earning a chuckle from Addison.

"Yeah," Patel replied, heading toward a group she recognized as the engineering team from the Psi Upsilon III Starfleet Academy satellite campus. "You need to learn how to loosen up. We're going to find you a guy."

B'Elanna planted her feet. "I really don't think so, Siobhan," she protested. "I don't do the casual sex thing."

Patel studied her for a second and shrugged. "Okay, so no sex. But that doesn't mean we can't still have some fun."


	14. Chapter 14

It wasn't until after midnight that Tom saw B'Elanna again. He was on the dance floor, still trying to figure out how to shake Cadet Katrina Duell, and spotted the half-Klingon engineer leaning slightly against the clear wall as she looked out toward the stars. He couldn't quite read the expression on her face, but he suspected that she wasn't having as much fun as Siobhan had thought they would.

"I need to go take care of something," he told the tall redhead after the song had ended.

She pouted slightly. "Find me when you're done?" He gave a quick nod in reply as he split off from her and headed toward Torres.

"Hey," he said softly, placing a hand gently on her back as he approached.

To his surprise, she didn't jump or glare at his touch. "Hey," she replied, not moving her eyes from the stars.

"Got sick of Siobhan already?" he joked.

This at least got a small smile from her. "She found a guy. She left about half an hour ago, told me she'll see me on the ship tomorrow." She finally turned to him. "Where's your shadow?"

"Duell? Finally managed to escape from her."

She raised her eyebrows at this. "No one-night stand? That doesn't sound like the Tom Paris of lore."

That surprised him. "The Tom Paris of lore?" he repeated. "What do you mean?"

"You have a bit of a reputation at the Academy," she informed him. "The other girls on the track team, even quite a few of my classmates, have told stories about the attractive squad leader of Nova Squadron and his conquests."

"You always believe everything you hear?" he asked, leaning against the glass, fixing her with a challenging gaze. "Because I've heard quite a few things about Klingon women, and yet here you are, looking out at the stars alone, as if you weren't surrounded by a hundred interested men."

She flushed slightly. "You shouldn't generalize," she responded in a clipped tone. "My social life is none of your business."

He held up his hands as if to ward off an attack. "Hey, I was just trying to make a point about what happens when you believe every bit of gossip. I'm pretty sure there's no truth to most of the stories you've heard—for one, you're pretty much the only plebe I've even _talked_ to all year."

She gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I get a little defensive when I've been thinking."

"You don't _stop_ thinking," he pointed out with a wide grin of his own. "What were you thinking about this time?"

She turned back to the stars. "It's nothing," she muttered.

"That's okay. I hear a lot of nothing. If you don't believe me, you try living with Ryan for awhile."

She smiled slightly, then looked back at him. "A few weeks ago, when we were talking in my room at Saturn, you said that you can't let yourself care about what I thought of you. What did you mean by that?"

His first impulse, as always, was to make a joke, but the challenging look in her eyes told him that that would not be a good idea in this case. He sighed and looked out the window for a moment before turning back to face her. "I like you, B'Elanna. A lot. But this isn't a good time for either of us, with you busy at the Academy and me about to become an ensign." He sighed again. "That's not it, either. It's just… I've screwed up almost everything I've ever done, and that's not what you need right now. I'm your friend, and if I did anything to ruin that, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself."

To his surprise, she didn't accept his explanation; rather, her eyes burned with anger, and he realized that she wasn't as sober as he previously thought. "That is so typical of you, Paris. You decide what's best for you and never once consider what anyone else around you thinks."

He flinched. The fact that she was probably the only person who knew how untrue that statement was made the words hurt even more. "B'Elanna—" he began, reaching for her arm.

"No!" she exclaimed, twisting easily out of his grasp. "Don't touch me, and don't try to explain. You've said enough. Have a good night with your pilot friend." She turned on her heels fast enough that her hair flew up and hit him in the face, but he didn't react, and just watched as she stormed away and out of the building. He groaned in frustration as he leaned his forehead against the wall.

"There you are," a soft voice cooed into his ear as a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind. "I've been looking for you."

He loosened the grasp enough to turn and face Katrina Duell. "Well, you found me," he said, giving her a roguish grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Now what are you going to do with me?"

"Well," she said slowly, tracing small circles on his chest. "How about if we return to the dance floor, and then see where things go from there?"

"Sounds like a plan," he replied, allowing himself to be led away.


	15. Chapter 15

After spending the morning isolated in the quarters she was sharing with Siobhan, trying to get caught up on the assignments she had missed over the past week, B'Elanna decided it was time for lunch. As an older ship used primarily for short-term missions, the _Clement _didn't have replicators in the quarters, forcing the crew and passengers to eat in the mess hall.

However, she froze as soon as the mess hall doors slid open, and instantly, all thoughts of food were pushed aside. Seated at a table near the door, playing a game of cards, were Siobhan Patel, Ryan Addison, and Tom Paris. The trio glanced up at the sounds of the doors opening to see the young engineer standing there for a second before she turned angrily away, her braid flying behind her. "B'Elanna, wait!" Paris called out, jumping up and running after her.

Patel and Addison watched the short scene, then turned to each other, both sets of eyebrows raised. "What was that all about?" Addison asked, his voice filled with wonder.

"Beats me," Patel replied as she flicked her cards thoughtfully. "They sleep together last night?"

Addison shook his head slowly. "Not that I know of. I mean, Tom came back to the room alone at about 0200. I guess they could have found some isolated spot at the party, but I doubt it." A mischievous glint filled his eyes. "After all, she had a room to herself last night."

"Yeah, and she's not the type to go for a quickie in some closet or anything," Patel said thoughtfully, ignoring the comment about her sex life. "Maybe he said something to her at the party. Did he seem upset or anything when he came in?"

Addison shrugged. "He seemed like Tom. What about Torres? Did she seem upset?"

"I wasn't in the room last night, remember?" Her voice was somewhere between caustic and teasing, reminding him of his comment about Rigel Mixer one-night stands and the fact that Siobhan seemed to be the only one allowed to talk about Siobhan's sex life. And then as soon as any animosity appeared, it was gone. "And since we boarded this morning, she's been in the quarters, and I've been in here with you two," she waved her cards and grinned sardonically, "finishing our graduation projects."

Addison sighed. "Well, if we're going to get to the bottom of this, we'll have to do some investigating on our own. Who do you want to talk to, Paris or Torres?" Patel only raised her eyebrow in response.

---

Tom Paris barely glanced up from his PADD when he heard the chime of the door. "Come in," he said, his tone distracted as he checked over his calculations.

B'Elanna Torres stopped just inside the door, not sure of how to proceed. Seeing who was standing there, Tom paused for a moment, then started to stand up.

The two cadets stood in silence for a moment before Torres stepped around him and took a seat in the chair. Paris returned to the seat he just vacated on the couch, continuing to watch her. He hadn't seen her since she almost came into the mess hall the day before, and he wasn't sure what to expect.

"I, uh, was looking over my list of supplies to prepare for my Survival Strategies practical exercise, and I was hoping you could take a look at it and let me know what you think," she said slowly, handing him the PADD she was carrying.

He took the PADD, but didn't look at it, his eyes still on her. "You should ask Siobhan," he replied, his voice carefully measured. "She had Sneezy, she knows what to expect for the practical."

"I'm asking you," she replied, finally looking at him. She sighed. "Ryan and I had a nice little talk last night."

"Oh?" he responded, pretty sure what it was about. Siobhan had cornered him at breakfast.

"Yeah," she replied, a small smile tugging on her lips. "Something about you being Siobhan, Addison being Duell, and I'm Gial. Honestly, he lost me early in the story, and I had no idea what he was talking about." Actually, he had explained everything very well. He told Torres the story about what happened between him and Patel a few years before. He explained that, like Duell had been with Tom, he had been fascinated by Siobhan, and thought that that fascination would be enough. It wasn't enough for Siobhan, however, who wasn't ready for a relationship, and even if she were, it wouldn't be with him. Winat Gial would always be the one Siobhan turned to when she had a bad day and wanted to talk about it, or a good day and wanted to celebrate it. In the end, when she was ready, it would be Winat she would go to, not Addison. Ryan explained that, at the end of the day, it would be B'Elanna who Tom turned to, and like Gial, she just had to be patient for that day to come.

"I might know what he's talking about," Paris replied with a slight smile. He sighed again. "I didn't mean-"

"No," she interrupted. "You were right, actually. I have too many issues of my own to deal with right now before taking on yours as well. I need to figure things out for myself for awhile."

He nodded slowly. Those were his words, and yet hearing them repeated to him, they felt like a rejection. "Right," he said softly.

"But we're still friends, right?" Torres asked.

"Yeah," he said with a nod.

"Good," she replied, nodding toward the PADD still in Paris' hands. "So, friend, are you going to help me with my assignment?"

He chuckled as he looked down at what he was holding. "That _is_ what having a first classman as a friend is all about," he reminded her as he began scrolling through the assignment and explaining what he would do differently.


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: Last chapter of part 1! Thank you to everyone who reviewed--I love reading what other people think of the story. I hope you continue to follow the adventures of the young Paris and Torres as I begin posting part 2 tomorrow._

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Cadet Third Class B'Elanna Torres tugged uncomfortably at the jacket of her dress uniform, trying to smooth creases that weren't there as she studied the crowd in search of a familiar face. For probably the tenth time that evening, her hand traveled to her collar, where a second rectangular pip had been added the day before. Although she still had one final project of her first year—her Survival Strategies practical experience—she was technically a second-year cadet, a fact which amazed her to no end. She hadn't really expected to make it that far.

The crowd hushed with the sound of a spoon tapping against a glass, and everyone turned toward the source of the noise to see Admiral Owen Paris waving the guests of honor forward. Once the six ensigns were lined up next to the admiral, he smiled and began to speak.

"Rank has certain privileges," he began, "including the right to stand up here and pontificate to my heart's content." The crowd laughed politely before he continued. "Of these six ensigns, I've known one for twenty-two years, another for eight. The other four I met for the first time more than three and a half years ago, when I came home from work to realize that it must have been the first weekend the first year cadets had liberty from campus. To be honest, I didn't know what to make of this group of six students who had descended upon my home. By the end of the weekend, I had decided that the whole lot of them was too flighty to make it through four years at the Academy, too undirected to figure out what they were going to do with their lives, and too different to stay together as friends. They proved me wrong in every way possible.

"A few hours ago, we listened with pride, and maybe a bit of disbelief as these six, along with 820 of their classmates, took their oaths as Starfleet officers. I'm sure the other parents here will agree with me that at times, it seemed this day would never arrive, and at others, it seemed like it came too soon."

Admiral Paris cleared his throat and faced the six ensigns standing at attention. "Tonight, we congratulate you six personally and wish you luck as you head off to your next adventures. Ensign Ryan Michael Addison, political science, flight controller aboard the _USS Exeter_. Ensign Thomas Eugene Paris, astrophysics, test pilot at Starfleet Research and Development. Ensign Siobhan Nisha Patel, propulsion engineering, engineer aboard the _USS Enterprise-D_. Ensign Sarah Marie Stimler, exobiology, junior science officer aboard the _USS Kingston_. Ensign Shannon Isabel Stimler, exobiology, junior science officer of Deep Space Nine. Ensign Winat Gial, interplanetary relations, first year law student at Starfleet College of Law." He raised his glass as a toast, the rest of the crowd emulating. "Congratulations, Ryan, Tom, Siobhan, Sarah, Shannon, and Gial, and God speed. You've come a long way since that weekend three and a half years ago, and from here, you'll only go further."

Everyone applauded and drank from their flutes of champagne, and the crowd began moving again as people came forward to congratulate six of Starfleet's newest ensigns. Through the noise, Torres thought that her enhanced auditory acuity from her Klingon genes made her the only one to hear Admiral Paris quietly add, "I'm proud of you, son." Then she saw the grin that crossed Tom's face, and she knew that he heard it, too.


End file.
